I sit at Sejeong's vanity, applying a light blush to my cheeks. I haven't worn make up since before I left for the Academy, and even though it was never a big thing for me the way it was for Jisoo, I've always enjoyed going through the motions of dressing up. I put on a final touch of cherry-flavored lip gloss, rubbing my lips together, and stand, smoothing my hands over the silky and glittery fabric of Sejeong's dress. I smile at myself in the mirror, but my good mood deflates when I catch the sight of the tin on the bed behind me in the reflection.

I'm not even trying to convince myself that Old Wooyoung's dog holds some sentimental meaning. Appa lied to me, made a deal with the headmaster at the Academy to stop his brother, and then left me a clue that I couldn't decipher myself. It's like the person I've counted on my entire life, the one who's always supported me and made me feel safe, suddenly decided to change his personality. I turn around, glare at the tin, and leave the room, hoping distance will lessen its impact.

Sehun's eyes light up when he sees me, and he stands. But a split second later his smile transform into a questioning gaze. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," I say too bluntly.

For a second we just stand there.

I frown. "I just . . . I don't know how appa . . ."

"Could write you such a sparse note?" he offers.

"Exactly!" I say with a bit too much emphasis.

Sehun takes a breath. "It's more than likely he was being cautious, in the event that someone other than you found the note."

I shake my head. "Let's assume you're right that he couldn't leave me an address or a phone number; I can't accept that. But what about . . . the rest? He could have said something else. Anything else."

Sehun nods like he understands what I'm not saying-that I needed more from appa, a lot more. It's like Uncle Jin used to say, it's not enough to know you love someone, it's important to let them know it.

"Do you want to talk -"

"No," I say, shelving my hurt because it's only going to make it harder to concentrate on what we have to do. "Not about that. Let's just . . . why don't you tell me about this pub we're going to."

"Wellll," Sehun say. "It's all very civilized. There's no-killing rule."

I raise an eyebrow, not convinced by his definition of civilized.

"If you attack someone here, you not only get banished from this inn, but from the entire group of properties like this one across Gyeonggi," Sehun continues. "And as you might imagine, these are something of a favorite among Strategia for trading information and, well, a dalliance here and there."

"Please tell you didn't just use the word dalliance for hookup," I say, and my frustration wavers.

"Upset that my vocabulary's excellent?" he says, and smiles.

I fight a smile and uncross my arms. "Don't you dare try to be funny when I'm clearly in a mood."

"It's not my fault that you find me irresistibly charming," he says.

Now I do smile. "Is that what you think?"

"That's what I know," he says. "Your body language is virtually screaming 'attraction.' You've uncrossed your arms and you're leaning toward me-signs that you're much more open and engaged than you were a minute ago. You've also tilted your head slightly, which suggests interest and makes your pheromones easier to detect. And those are only a couple of the indicators."

My smiles widens. "Show off."

He laughs. "Who ever said modesty was a virtue?"

"Not a Strategia, that's for sure."

"Certainly not," he says, and once again offers me the crook of his arm.

I let out a long exhale and wind my arm in his. "Okay, let's do this." And just like that my mind focuses back on the task at hand. Appa left me one clue, and however cryptically annoying it may be, this is my only chance to figure out.

Sehun and I make our way down the stairs, only we don't stop at the ground floor; we continue down to a space that I can only describe as a lavish dungeon. The walls are gray stone studded with iron sconces and the furniture is dark wood appointed with red velvet. The bar itself has a wooden canopy over it that is carved into points and spires, mimicking the outside architecture of the manor.

I immediately head for a small table near the fireplace and Sehun doesn't object; it provides us with a good view of the room without easily being overheard. Plus, the crackling wood masks sounds like white noise.

As I pass through the bar and tables my pulse quickens. The patrons around us are beautifully dressed, seemingly relaxed, and doing nothing more than drinking, eating, and carrying on cheery conversations. Nevertheless, I notice the same subtle and discerning glances as the students in the Academy once gave me. No one looks at us in an obvious way; their movements are deliberate and controlled. And it occurs to me that I no longer see the world the way I once did, that the Strategia part of me is growing.

Sehun pulls out a chair at the small table and I move the long skirt of my dress to the side as I sit down. The warmth from the fire momentarily takes the edge off my nerves. Sehun situates himself next to me, and as I listen to the hum of conversations in the room, it strikes me that only I hear Suwon dialects.

"Omo," I say, "I don't think I can do a Suwon dialect-not believably, anyway."

Sehun nods, like he's already considered this. "A half-American accent isn't actually a problem," he says with a Suwon dialect so perfect it makes me want to groan. "Makes you appear to be a tourist, which is a persona any Strategia might use."

"Good," I say, but I'm not convinced it won't draw unwanted attention. I take a quick look around the room. "Is he . . . here?"

"At the bar," Sehun says in a controlled voice. "Dark styled hair with slanted eyes. The one sitting by himself."

I subtly look up and toward the bar, like I might be considering what I want to drink. There, just as Sehun indicated, is a an older gentleman in a gray blazer with elbow patches. I let out a sigh of relief. Junho.

"It's not luck that we found him here," Sehun says, clearly reading me again. "He's always here. My parents once told me he's been a fixture in this pub for the past thirty years."

I might be halfway across the country, but at least appa directed me to someone we could easily find. I suppose it could have been worse.

"What do you know about him?" I ask, realizing I have asked earlier.

"Not a lot," Sehun says. "Sejeong and I have been coming here with my parents since we were little, but I've never spoken with him. Apparently, he has a reputation for being difficult."

I grunt. Difficult for a Strategia classifies as nearly impossible for a normal person.

"And the rest of the room?" I ask, trying to understand how this all works.

"Half Strategia and half locals and travelers," he says, confirming my earlier assessment. "The owners and managerial staff are Strategia, but most of the works are not. It allows use to hide in plain sight, controlling the bookings and maintaining discretion but still blending in with the surrounding communities. Hence the no-killing rule, which assures these properties remain neutral. You'll find glowing reviews for this place and all the establishments like it online."

He looks amused, but I raise a skeptical brow. I'm not sure I love the idea that while booking a vacation in Gyeonggi, there is every possibility of landing in an elegant hotel that's half filled with secret-society assassins.

"But if you study the patrons closely," Sehun continues, "You can tell that what looks like casual conversation is actually trading information, planning for missions, and hiring crews."

I focus my attention on the room without being obvious. "What kind of missions?"

"All kinds. Gathering intel, stopping assassinations, planning assassinations, influencing political leaders, protecting people who will never even known we exist," Sehun says, reinforcing once again that his "normal" is a universe away from my own.

"So how do these interactions work? Do we just approach Junho and start up a conversation?" I ask.

"You mean you," he says, and it takes me a moment to realize what he's saying.

I stare at him like he has two heads. "Wait a moment, I'm having this conversation alone?"

Sehun just looks at me blankly. "Your father left that clue for you. He obviously meant for the conversation to be yours and yours alone."

"A clue that I couldn't decipher without your help," I reply. 

But Sehun shakes his head. "Like I said, my family has been coming here for years; Junho likely knows who I am, what Family I belong to. Me being part of your conversation would upset the whole plan. No one here knows you. Your very best shot at getting the information you need is to talk to him alone."

I hear his words, but I'm having trouble accepting them. It's not like I want Sehun to hold my hand, but navigating the Gyeonggi Strategia world by myself with zero experience sounds like a recipe for disaster. The students at the Academy were impossible enough; how am I supposed to handle the adults?

I look up at Junho, who is currently searching his pocket for something, and my worry heightens. Is he looking for his wallet? Is he ready to leave? Because the only thing worse than blindly initiating a conversation with him would be chasing him down the parking lot in this confining dress.

I stand up before I can talk myself out of it. Sehun's eyes widen ever so slightly and I know him well enough by now to tell that I've shocked him by making a move before we could discuss the details. But I can't sit back down, not with all these Strategia watching. They'll immediately know that I'm nervous and that there's something wrong or unusual about my behavior.

So instead, I murmur "Wish me luck," will all the resolve I can muster.

I hold my head high and walk my most confident walk all the way to the bar, sliding onto the empty stool next to Junho. At which point I see what he's been searching his pocket for-a toothpick. He sticks it in his mouth and idly chews.

I momentarily look back at Sehun, who is slipping into a seat at one of the communal table and joining the conversation like it's the most natural thing in the world. I turn back to the bar to find a bartender standing in front of me.

"Menu, miss?" he says in a Suwon dialect.

"Yes, please," I say, happy to have something to focus on besides my nerves. It only takes me a quick glance before I spot what I want. "I'd love some pudding with honeycomb ice cream."

Junho turns slightly and raises a wild eyebrow. "So you're having potatoes with your potatoes?" His voice raspy and a bit abrasive.

I'm not sure whether I'm relieved or worried that he spoke to me first. For starters, I haven't had time to consider what my strategy will be. But I turn to Junho with my most ladylike expression. "And dessert, of course . . . otherwise it wouldn't be a well-wounded meal."

Only he doesn't react the way most people would, with a polite laugh or a smile or even a return of banter. Instead, his look is hard and his expression is unreadable.

"And to drink?" the bartender asks, and when I don't answer right away he says, "We've got a local cider for the holidays."

"Sounds perfect," I say with a smile.

"What are you having?" I ask Junho, because for the life of me I can't think of a better way to continue our conversation.

"Whisky," he says gruffly, and finishes his glass, clinking it on the bar for a refill, leaving no easy follow-up.

There is a beat silence and I continue with a lame: "I've never tried whisky."

Junho glances in my direction, his expression unforgiving. "How long do you intend to keep up the pretense of casual chatting? If you have something to say, get on with it."

My eyes widen. "Says the guy to started talking to me in the first place," I reply, matching his tone of voice.

He grunts, which I suppose is better than silence, but not by much. The pressure of needing to succeed here weighs on me.

The bartender places a mug of hot cider in front of me. I immediately take a sip. It's more sour than our usual holiday cider in Jeongsan, but it's warm and comforting and has a stick of cinnamon in it.

"Don't think I didn't notice that Wolf boy sending you over to talk to me. You children are about as subtle as my ninety-year-old aunt after a bottle of wine," Junho says as he sips his whisky, and I have to wonder if he's right. While Sehun is well trained and definitely has more experience than me, he's still young.

Now I grunt. "And you've got about as much tact as -"

"Don't have time for tact. Too old," he says.

I take another sip of my cider and decide to attempt a new approach-honesty. "Okay, well, the truth is I was told to find you, but I have no idea why, other than that you have information that I need."

"I have information that most people need; doesn't mean I'm going to give it to you," he says, and now that he's looking directly at me instead of his whisky, I can he has sly and assessing Strategia eyes.

My pulse quickens. "I'm looking for information about Namjoon, the firstborn son of the Tiger Family, who disappeared more than twenty years ago," I say, trying to swallow the fear that comes with saying appa's name aloud.

The old man's expression turns penetrating and take a gulp of cider. "What use is information that's twenty years old?"

My hand stiffens around my cider. Is he saying he doesn't know anything about appa? Or is he just testing me? "I don't want twenty-year-old information," I say, not sure wht the protocol is here. I feel like this is the conversational equivalent of tumbling down a mountain, hitting trees as I go.

"Fill 'er up," he says to the bartender, lifting his glass, and he turns away from me without another word.

I wait, but he doesn't show any sign that he's going to continue. "So that's it?" I say. "You're just going to stop talking to me?"

"Precisely," he says without looking in my direction.

I glance at Sehun, who's laughing and gesturing while he tells a story. Meanwhile, I'm one sentence into my ask and I've already been told no. And for the life of me, I can't think of a smooth or cunning way to convince Junho to help me. But then again, I'm not sure cunning would even work with him. So I change tactics once again. "Why?"

He pauses for a moment, looking at me like I just said something strange. "Because you're green and sloppy."

"That doesn't mean I don't have information to trade," I say, and my head feels a little odd, like I'm not getting enough air. 

"Not interested," he says.

Damn it all. No one would shut me down so completely unless they actually knew something.

I take another big gulp of cider and gather my resolve. "Look, I don't know what the right thing to say here is."

He turns toward me, looking at me like I'm saying wild things, but I know that at the very least, I have his attention.

"I've never tried to trade information before," I say hurriedly, "so I don't think how it works. And maybe I am sloppy, but you'll deeply regret it if you dismiss me on that point alone."

He rolls his whisky around in his mouth like he's trying to make a decision. He stares at me for such a long time that sweat beads at my temples. "So tell me," he finally says, "What could a young girl, whom I've never seen in society, possibly tell me that I don't already know."

By his tone, I get the sense that it's his business to know what no one else does, that it's a mark of pride.

"What do you know about Namjoon?" I ask again.

"That's not how it works," he says. "You're going to tell me what it is that you know, and if I think it's worth a trade, I'll reciprocate. If not, you'll get nothing."

My heart beats faster, making it harder to breathe inside this dress. I don't know what's safe to tell him and what isn't. But it's not like I can ask him to wait while I go confer with Sehun, either. "Namjoon's younger brother was working at the Absconditi Academy. He's dead," I say, trying to keep my voice steady and confident.

He sighs, like I'm practically disappointing. "I'll tell you what I told the last person who came here looking for him. Not. Now leave an old man to enjoy his drink without rambling on."

My heart jumps into my throat. Someone else came here looking for appa? Taemin's threat about appa rings in my thoughts.

Junho smiles a satisfied smile. "And now I knew you were unaware others were following him, which only solidifies my first impression-that you are green and have nothing to offer."

I take a hug gulp of cider, placing the large glass down so hard that it sloshes. "I killed Namjoon's brother," I say, even though it's not exactly the truth.

"Right," he says, and half laughs.

"Because I'm Namjoon's daughter," I say with force. And as they say in poker, I'm now all in.

The old man stops his drink halfway to his mouth and turns to look at me, dead serious, examining my every feature. His gaze is uncomfortable, but I know breaking eye contact right now would make appear to be lying.

"You may not know me, sir. But if you knew my mother, Nana, you know I look like her," I say, gaining confidence and lifting my chin. "Now if you know something about where my dad is, t's time to say it. I think I've more than fulfilled my end of the bargain."

He continues to stare at me for so long that I worry the whisky got the better of him. But whatever he sees on my face must convince him I'm telling the truth, because after a painfully long stare off he nods and grunts. But when he still doesn't believe me and he's just going to shut me down.

"I know-" I start, but he cuts me off with a hard look.

He subtly leans closer, reeking of alcohol. "For those . . . in the know," he says, picking his words carefully. "Taecyeon has placed a bounty on Namjoon's head. More if he's alive, but a good healthy sum either way."

It takes all my self-control not to fly off my stool. Dead or alive. I grip the bar harder than I should and take another big sip. I've been entirely focused on the Tigers as our enemy, but if there's a high-price bounty on appa's head, anyone from any Family might be after him.

Then it occurs to me that Junho insinuated that people know about appa. "Wait, what do you mean 'those in the know'?" I ask. "Are you saying that other Strategia know he's alive?"

"Who's to say," he answers cryptically.

I open my mouth to ask him a slew of questions but close it again. He already made it a point to tell me I'm sloppy. I force my fingers to relax their hold on the polished bar top and I take a measured sip of my drink. I study him for a few seconds. I haven't played him the way Sehun would have or used any of the deception techniques I learned in Professor Sanrak's class; I've basically been honest. In fact, I've shown very little Strategia finesse at all. Yet . . .

"You said someone was here looking for appa," I say, eyeing him. "That information must not be private or you wouldn't have said it in the first place. And considering I've taken a huge risk in telling you who I am, the least you can do is tell me who I'm up against."

He grunts, but his eyes look amused. "Is that so?"

"You know it better than I do," I say. What I don't say is that he told me that before he decided to trade with me, which makes me wonder, did he suspect who I was all along? Was he trying to give me a warning or has he been playing with me this entire time? I remember Professor Sanrak saying in deception class that a good deceiver will make you see a lie where there isn't one and truth when it doesn't exist. Was he just leading me down a path?

"The Ferryman," he says with a neutral expression, watching my reaction.

The Ferryman?? My mind spins. As in the mythological Greek figure who shuttles dead people across the river? Omo. That does not . . . I can't even think about . . .

"If you want to know more, then trade with the blacksmith near Ansan," Junho says, interrupting my silent panic, and turns away from me.

"The blacksmith?" I say, and my throat feels unnaturally dry.

"Another." He holds up his glass and it's clear that our negotiation is now over. "And one for the lady."

I try to get my bearings, but everything feels upside down and wrong ways. Someone called the Ferryman is after appa. I still don't have faintest idea where appa is besides somewhere in Seoul-maybe. And the one clue he left me is now pointing me to some unknown blacksmith? My head feels like it's floating, instead of being properly attached to my body.

I take a sip of my cider and freeze. I stare at my now almost-empty glass. Oh crap. I know exactly why the cider tastes different. It isn't sour, it's alcoholic. I know drinking age here is nineteen instead of twenty, but never assumed when the bartender suggested it to me that he might be offering a real drink.

The bartender puts two whisky shots on the bar in front of us.

"None for me," I say, my voice sounding slightly displaced from my body.

"Nonsense," the old man says. "We did business and now we're drinking. That's what  you do when you're on a suicide mission, kid. You enjoy the moments you have."

I hesitate. I have no reason to trust this guy, especially since there is every likelihood he played me. But maybe that's a nonpoint; you can't ever trust Strategia because they will always deceive you . . . enthusiastically. I glance at Sehun, who has started up another conversation at the other end of the room. It's December twenty-second, appa has a bounty on his head, we're all being hunted with no hope for making it home for the holidays or possibility ever. Despite bot being able to see any clear path forward, I can't help think that my uncle Jin would not only agree about enjoying the moments you have-she would actually get a kick out of this guy and his grumpiness.

"Screw it. Let's drink," I say, the world already feeling fuzzy.

"Attagirl!" he says, and slaps me on the back.

➶ ⱠɆ₮'₴ ⱧɄ₦₮ ⱧɆⱤ ➴

"But can you keep a beat?" the old man asks me, and sways.

"Yeeeees. My life is beats," I say, and he looks like he doesn't believe me, but he also doesn't have a better option.

"And remember you part? 'Cause I won't have you holding up the tune."

I grab the bar to steady myself. "Ring ding dong, ring ding dong

Ring diggy ding diggy ding ding ding. Then I repeat the last line you sang," I say emphatically, and hiccup. "Now will you stop blustering at me and grow a pair."

He chuckles. "Right you are. This is shaping up to be a damn fine evening after all." He takes one last shot, which he dedicates to someone name Kim Suho, and offers me his hand as I step down from my barstool. Problem is I'm nor sure if he's steadying me or making me sway more.

He let's go of me sticks two fingers in his mouth, whistling out loud and clear. Half the pub turns to look at us. I start clapping my hands in the air to the beat he taught me and he stomps his foot. It only takes a few seconds for some of the other patrons to move our way.

"Baby, I've been charmed by you; but why are you acting to me this way?" he sings in a deep bellowing voice. "Don't escape, if you're afraid; how about just trusting me, my lady?" He nods to me.

"Ring ding dong, ring ding dong, ring diggi dingdiggi, ding ding ding," we sing together. "Butterfly! When I first saw you, you flashed in front of my eyes. My brain stopped and the bell rang ding dong."

A crowd gathers around us, some of them clapping with me, which is about the moment that I realize I'm also dancing.

"I mean I'm not a cool guy, not a kind guy, not a guy like that but about to be; I'm a decent bad boy," the old man sings, and there are encouraging whistles from the onlookers. A guy around my age joins us by the bar, dancing beside me and clapping along. "You're like a butterfly! You were too weak, you fell. You were too gentle, you fell. I have to be by your side. Don't worry about it, don't worry; just trust me, and everything will be okay."

There are burst of laughter and cheering. I spot Sehun pushing his way to the front of the crowd and I smile at him.

"Baby, you stop my heart oh crazy; so pretty I can't stand it oh crazy; I don't need anything else crazy. Why am I like this," the guy who who joins us sing with me, and more people from the crowd repeat the last line. "So fantastic; so elastic! Ring ding dong, ring ding dong, ring diggi dingdiggi, ding ding ding."

The young guy twirls me in a circle and I'm fairly certain a "whee" escapes my lips.

"I call you butterfly, as the days go by the idea that I can't escape you, gets driven in further," Junho sings, and the onlookers whistle and cheer. "Choose me, don't run away; you have to take responsibility for this fool that's fallen for you."

The young guy smiles at me and we sing, "I don't understand how you caught the kindness syndrome, but it's okay if you sometimes break away from that stereotyped image. Ring ding ding ding ding, dong dong dong dong."

He twirls me again and dips me with his arm wrapped behind my back, and he leans in close to breathe me in. I giggled as I stand up, I see Sehun has broken from the group and is walking straight for me. I wave him forward, encouraging him to get involved. But instead of joining in the song, he scoops me into his arms.

The crowd hoots and hollers, but when he begins to walk away with me, objections fly. Sehun doesn't respond and he doesn't turn around. He just carries me through the door and out of the pub entirely.

Examining him for a reason he looks so put out, I touch my cheek with my pointer finger, but it slips right down his face. "Did you get jealous that guy was dancing with me?" I say as we go up the stairs, and I laugh until a hiccup cuts it short. "I've never seen you jealous before. It's cute. Can Strategia be cute? Isn't it against the rules?"

"I was on the other side of the room for no more than half an hour. How did you manage to bond with old Junho, much less concoct a performance in that time?" Sehun says as he continues up the stairs.

"Whisky!" I say, and spread my arms out. "That old man -"

"Junho," Sehun offers.

"Junho said it was a solution to . . . well, I don't remember to what, but it made sense at the time," I giggle.

Even though I can tell he's still concerned, a smile steals across his face. His dark brown eyes focus on me in a way that makes me feel like I'm the only girl in the world he smiles at, even though I know for a fact that's not the case.

"Why are you so attractive?" I say, and his eyes widen. "No, seriously. I want to know. It's weird."

"It's weird?" He tries to maintain a serious expression, but his voice sounds like it's covering a laugh.

"Yeah. Super weird."

"I'm afraid I don't know how to answer that," he says, and puts me down gently in front of the suite, waiting for me to get my footing before he lets go.

I lean against the wall, and as soon as he finishes opening the door, I touch his hand. He intertwines his fingers with mine, and I pull him toward me.

"I'm going to kiss you right now, Sehun, so don't you dare try to object," I say, and the smile he gives me is so knee-weakening that I'm grateful not only for the wall behind me, but for the builder of this wall in particular, and for the inventor of walls in general.

He gently slips his hand behind my neck, and my skin tingles where he touches me. His lips hover over mine. "I would never refuse a kiss from you."

I move my mouth to meet his, and the tingles that started in my neck spread through my entire body. He steps a little closer, and his body meets mine, pressing my back into the wall.

Then suddenly there is the sound of voices on the staircase and we break our embrace. He offers me his arm to walk into the room, but I stumble in just fine on my own.

"We need to get you some water," he says, and I can't help but frown because our kissing didn't immediately resume. "And a charcoal pill. Even so, you're going to feel like ten kinds of hell in the morning."

"Have I shrunk?" I ask.

"Have you what?" Sehun says, and half laughs.

"I feel like I'm two feet tall," I say, and touch my head to make sure it's still where it should be. "And my hands feels like flappers."

"Flappers, eh?" Sehun says, smiling. "What exactly are flappers?"

"Flappers. Flippies. Flappippies." I pause to consider my strange physical predicament, and my lips purse. "Maybe I'm turning into a seal."

Sehun's laughter takes me surprise and I almost lose my balance.

"Maybe that wasn't whisky I was drinking at all. Maybe it was a magical potion and that old man is really a witch?" I say, giving the situation some hard thought.

"Junho isn't a witch," he says as though my comment warranted a response.

"Did you think I thought . . . no . . . did you thought I think. . You know what I mean," I say.

Sehun's smile only grows. "No, I really don't."

"What's a witch anyway by a rose's name that doesn't smell as sweet," I say, and hiccup.

"Glad we cleared that up."

He's having way too much fun at my expense and I'm not sure I like it. I point at him. I just wish he would stop moving, so I wouldn't have to sway to see him. "You said you were falling for me."

"I did," he says.

"How do you even know something like that? I mean, how are you brave enough to say it?" I grab the couch, which has snuck up behind me.

Sehun closes the distance between us and brushes back a wisp of my hair. He puts an arm around my waist to keep me standing. "I've always known when things are important. And you, Suzy, are stunning. I don't just mean that you're beautiful, which you certainly are. I mean that you radiate kindness and laughter at the same time that you're besting everyone with your knife skills. You trust people and believe in their goodness, even when everyone around you attacks and betrays you. I've never met anyone like you in my life and I would have to be the most foolish person alive not to tell you so."

"Okay, I knew it . . . or at least I suspected it," I say getting hung up on the word suspected. "You're perrrrfect. Do you really think that's fair to the rest of us? I'm pretty sure I'm going to marry you. Not now. Don't be crazy. But you should just tell your Family that whatever ideas they have about you marrying someone fancy are irrelevant." I wave my hands in the air for emphasis.

Sehun laughs. "On that note, I think we should get you to bed."

"On that note," I say, and lean forward, but before I get to his lips, my stomach gurgles. "Oh no." I break away from his arms, taking a fast, dizzying scan of the room, until my eyes land on a beautiful hand-carved waste bin. I drop to my knees and grab either side of it.

Sehun pulls back my hair and I vomit until there is nothing left in my stomach. He gets me a wet washcloth and a glass of water. I don't need the morning to arrive to know that I deeply regret my drinking and defiling of this lovely waste bin.

There is a knock on the door and Sehun looks out the peephole before answering it. On the other side is Junho.

"Missed me already," I say from my splayed-out position on the floor. "Did you know Junho comes from the Sino-Korean origin? And not only that, it means 'talented, partnered, and worthy.' Cool, huh?" I hiccup.

"Paying homage to the whisky gods, I see," Junho says to me, and hands Sehun something. "She forgot her wallet at the bar."

I squint at the brown square and attempt to sit up. "That's not mine." I laugh. "Where  would I even put a wallet in this dress? Psssht." I wave my hand at him like I'm batting at a fly.

"Thank you, sir," Sehun says, giving the old man a wary eye.

Junho nods at Sehun and raised two eyebrows at me before he leaves. He seems surprisingly less drunk than I do, which I consider most unfair.

The door closes with a click and Sehun opens the brown wallet, pulling out a business card. His eyes widen. "Do Kyungsoo . . . Blacksmith." He looks at me, his expression turning dead serious.

"Right," I say, and rub my head like it might help clear the fog. "Junho did say something about a blacksmith."

Sehun looks at the card like he's concentrating too hard. "Why would he bring you this?"

"Hmm?" I say.

Sehun shakes his head. "There are lot of whispers about Kyungsoo. None of them good."

Some of my memories from my conversation with Junho float into my consciousness and I sit up, suddenly not feeling as carefree as I did a minute ago. "Junho said someone came here looking for appa. That there's a bounty on his head." I look at Sehun. "Have you heard of the Ferryman?"

Sehun exhales audibly, the color draining out of his cheeks. "We're leaving at first light."