He stares fixedly at the pictures and accolades on the wall. Her son and daughter-in-law, grinning with their seven-year-old child in a park, the picture of a perfect, happy family. A BS in psychology from New Sinsi University, and a BA in shamanism. A PhD from New Sinsi University, Magical Division in deity psychology. Newspaper clippings of her practice, a cozy office conveniently next to a Creature Café, with headlines applauding her work supporting the pantheon. She’s done a remarkable job reforming him into a god who doesn’t overly obsess about staging coups. Seokga wishes she’d been around when his father, Mireuk, had what Dr. Jang has called in past sessions a “psychotic break” and created all the evils of the worlds.

She might have been helpful.

“I know you miss Hani, Seokga,” Dr. Jang continues, “but some time off is minuscule compared to the amount of time you have to search for her. And…” She hesitates, shifting in her seat. “Well, Hani can find you, too, dear. The thread does go both ways, after all.”

Seokga rips his gaze away from the clippings. “She might not know what it is,” he says, not letting himself entertain the other explanation as to why they haven’t found each other yet. Not considering that she might be running from him. “Statistically, it’s more likely she’s human than a creature. If she’s human, she may not know the stories about the thread.” He swallows hard. Hani, whoever she is now, must feel the same pull—the same longing—as he does. The red thread has turned them into magnets aching to connect. Yet he still hasn’t found anyone with the wine-brown eyes of his Hani, eyes that Hwanin promised would remain the same in this life.

Thirty-three years.

Thirty-three years of grief and longing. Thirty-three years since 1992, that golden year when a woman with a sly smile and a laugh like the tinkling of bells flounced into his life and sent him falling, head over heels. Thirty-three years since they tackled each other in the bamboo forest, since they shared a tentative kiss on a fairy’s mountain, since Hani brought snacks to a stakeout, since she ran her fingers through his hair as he threatened to burn the whole world down, since he held her in his arms…

Thirty-three years since the Scarlet Fox died.

Seokga pushes down a hot stab of bitter emotion, anger, and betrayal. He drowns it in another sip of cold, cold coffee.

Dr. Jang sighs. “I’m going to be blunt, Seokga. You’re falling apart at the seams. If you don’t stop now, you’ll be nothing but a husk. Forgive me, but have you looked in a mirror recently?”

He knows what she’s referring to. The dark circles under his eyes. The bloodshot corners. Finding Hani has consumed his every waking moment. He doesn’t even use conditioner anymore.