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“Not usually. My halmeoni says...” Nara trailed off, her eyes lowering to the ground.

Miyoung knew Nara’s skills weren’t normal, even for a shaman. Her fear of the ghosts that plagued her made it hard for her to control her abilities. Not the granddaughter one would expect of a powerful shaman who’d exorcised evil spirits.

Nara lived with high filial expectations and low familial affection. Something Miyoung knew well herself.

“It wasn’t a spirit or a god. It was a feeling. An imbalance. A flash of the sun, then complete darkness.” Nara spoke in circles as she worked through the puzzle aloud. “Something gone. Something missing.”

Miyoung sucked in a sharp breath.

“What did you lose?” Nara asked, staring intently at Miyoung’s face. Then her eyes narrowed, like she was clicking the last mental puzzle piece in place. “Your yeowu guseul.”

“Yes,” Miyoung said. There was no use in denying it. This was why she’d come here in the first place.

Nara’s eyes became wide as two full moons. “Where is it now?”

“Safe.”

“If the wrong person gets ahold of it, they could use it to control you.” With each word Nara’s voice rose with agitation.

“It’s safe,” Miyoung insisted, and fought the urge to check her pocket.

“Does your mother know?” Nara whispered. She always lowered her voice when the topic of Miyoung’s mother came up, a quiet reverence mixed with a healthy dose of dread. As if speaking of her aloud would call Yena forth.

“She doesn’t know and she doesn’t have to if you can helpme put it back where it belongs.” The fox bead felt heavier in Miyoung’s pocket, like it knew they were discussing it.

“So you believe me now? That a yeowu guseul is a gumiho’s soul. It controls your life and holds your gi.”

“I never doubted that,” Miyoung said, then added, “in theory. But I’ve never heard of a person’s soul falling out.”

“People used to believe a gumiho’s bead carried all the knowledge of heaven and earth,” Nara said quietly. “But not many know that its true purpose is balance. Without it you run the risk of losing your grip on your humanity.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Miyoung’s fists clenched, as if preparing for a fight against an invisible enemy.

“It means that your control over your yokwe side, your... monstrous side, might slip.”

“Well—” Miyoung’s voice broke and she cleared her throat. “That’s why we need to put it back right away.”

“I might know a way,” Nara said slowly. Long, drawn-out words that agitated Miyoung’s frayed nerves.

“What is it?” she asked impatiently.

“You won’t like it.”

“Tell me,” Miyoung insisted.

“Can you give me the bead?”

Miyoung took a step back instinctively.

“I didn’t think so.” The hurt in Nara’s eyes almost made Miyoung feel guilty, but she knew she had to protect herself. Even from Nara.

“It might be dangerous for you to get too involved.” It was a weak excuse, and from Nara’s scrunched expression, the shaman saw right through it.

“If you can’t trust me, I can’t help you.”

“Is there nothing else?” Miyoung asked.

“Nothing I’ve ever performed before.” Nara started to turn away, but not before Miyoung saw the glint of something in her eyes.