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“Thirsty,” Somin croaked out, and blinked at the strange frog-like voice that had come out.

“I’ll get you water. Sit down.” Miyoung took the mug. Usually Somin hated people taking care of her—that was her job—but she was already shaky on her legs, so she sat at the kitchen table.

“I have to call my mother,” she said. “She’ll wonder where I am.”

“I already called her last night. I told her you’re staying here. She said that was good. She doesn’t want you spending the night worrying about her alone.”

“Last night?” Somin asked.

“It’s morning. You slept through the night.”

Somin let out a shaky breath. “Where’s Junu?”

Miyoung paused in the act of pouring water. “He hasn’t come back yet.”

There was something in her tone, something that spoke of burdensome things.

“What happened?” Somin asked. “How did we get back here?”

“We brought you back after...” Miyoung shook her head, unable to continue as she held out the mug.

Instead of taking the water, Somin latched on to Miyoung’s wrist and tugged at her bloodstained sleeves. “Are you okay? Where are you hurt?” Somin pushed up the fabric to find the wound. Miyoung yelped in surprise and yanked her arm back, but Somin had already moved on, noticing blood splattered over Miyoung’s shirt.

“What is this?” she asked frantically. “Please tell me what happened. Tell me who’s hurt. Or...” Somin couldn’t bring herself to say the wordsor who’s dead.

“I can’t.”

“Is it Jihoon?” Somin finally brought herself to ask, dreading the answer.

“No. He’s alive.”

“Where is he? How do we get that fox spirit out of him? Can I see him?”

Miyoung seemed to fold in on herself at the barrage of questions. Her eyes couldn’t meet Somin’s, and her hands shook before she fisted them together.

“What is it?” Somin asked, feeling the tension coming off her friend in waves.

“I just... I don’t know what to do for him. I don’t know how to get him back, and what if this is all my fault?” Miyoung’s legs shook, and she lowered herself into a crouch in front of Somin, sobbing. It tore at Somin. She’d never heard her friend sound so desperate before. So she pulled Miyoung close.

“No, you can’t think like that. You’re both victims here; this is nobody’s fault.” She stroked Miyoung’s hair, holding her gently as the girl emptied herself of all her fear and frustration.

After Miyoung had cried herself out, she was limp with exhaustion, and Somin insisted that she rest.

“Did you even sleep last night?”

“I rested... a bit. For a few minutes,” Miyoung admitted.

“You’re sleeping. No arguing.” Somin led Miyoung to the couch.

“But I’m supposed to be taking care of you.” Miyoung’s words were slurred with exhaustion.

“You are,” Somin said. “I’m already feeling much better.”

“Liar,” Miyoung mumbled as her eyes drooped closed. Soon her breathing evened out in sleep, and Somin draped a blanket over her.

Somin surveyed the quiet apartment. Had she ever noticed before how cold it seemed? The design made it too sleek, too artificial. Like the facade that Junu put forward. Like the overly polished, pompous jerk Somin had first thought him to be. Somin’s eyes traveled to the library involuntarily, the one space that held any personality. The one that felt like the Junu Somin was starting to know. Those glimpses that made Somin’s heart yearn. And thinking of him, worry washed through her.

She glanced back at Miyoung’s bloodstained sleeves. She should have made her friend change. But at least she’d assured herself it wasn’t Miyoung’s blood. And it wasn’t Jihoon’s.