came out tight, choked. “You don’t know me anymore.”
“I don’t need to know you to see right through you. Your weak heart cares about these humans.”
“Leave him alone,” Miyoung said. She felt a need now to shield Junu from the cruelty of this fox spirit. Because, whether she’d wanted to admit it or not, Junu had become a part of her life. A part she wanted to hold on to.
“Make me,” Sinhye said with a hard grin.
Miyoung started to step forward, but Junu stopped her. “I’m asking you to leave these people alone and let Jihoon go,” Junu said. “And I’ll help you find another way to live.”
Sinhye sneered. “You think I need your help? Don’t you get it? I don’t want or need anything from you except your pain.”
“And how do you think this will help? I don’t care about that man.” Junu flung his arm toward Mr. Ahn.
“Yes, but you claim to care about this one and his friends.” Sinhye gestured to Jihoon’s body. “Let’s see how you deal with the pain you’ve caused them.”
“What?” Junu asked, but he was cut short as Sinhye’s eyes rolled back and her body went slack.
42
JIHOON’S BODY FELL back, his head slamming against the hard floor. As Miyoung ran to him, Junu called for her to stop. They had no way of knowing what Sinhye would do if she got her hands on someone else. But Miyoung didn’t listen.
Jihoon moaned, and Junu prepared to fight her off.
“Miyoung-ah?” Jihoon murmured, sounding distinctly Jihoon-like, but Junu was still on edge. Waiting for even the slightest hint that it was a trap. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Miyoung said, trying to block the sight of Mr. Ahn lying in the middle of the floor. But Jihoon followed the trail of gore until he spotted his father’s body.
“Is that . . . ?” A gasp of horror escaped his throat. Jihoon lifted his hands as if to hide behind them; then his eyes widened as he saw the blood covering his skin. “Oh God. Did I do that? Did I kill—”
“No,” Miyoung said firmly. “It wasn’t you.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God.” Jihoon started shaking, his body jerking with agitation as he ran his red-stained hands over his face. It transferred the blood to his cheeks, stuck in his hair, made him look gruesome. His hands fisted at his temples, and he sobbed. “I remember now. I remember what happened. I’m a murderer. I killed him. I killed my own father.” The last words were akin to a wail of pain so sharp that even Junu felt it.
“No,” Miyoung said. “It was Sinhye, and she’s gone now.”
“She’s not.” Jihoon shook his head frantically. “She’s still in here. I can hear her. She says she wants me to see what we did. She wants me to watch him die.”
Jihoon’s father twitched, let out a cough that spewed blood from his mouth.
“He’s not dead,” Miyoung said, latching on to that fact. “Look, he’s not dead.”
“Yet,” Junu said, and she sent him an angry glare.
“You’re not helping,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Neither are you if you think this will help him with his guilt. There’s nothing we can do for this man.”
And when Mr. Ahn died, Jihoon would never forgive himself. He’d be tortured by this death for the rest of his life. And that was the punishment, Junu realized. The punishment was knowing that he was the cause of more pain. Because Mr. Ahn wouldn’t be dying if not for Sinhye, and Sinhye would not have targeted him if not for Junu.
The guilt he already felt over his part in Yena’s death expanded, threatened to choke him.
You can never do anything right, his father’s voice echoed in his head. Angry and hard. I’m ashamed to have a son like you.
Junu almost lifted his hands to drown out the voice, but he knew it was coming from his own memory. And try as he might, there was no escaping it.
Let’s see how you deal with the pain you’ve caused them, Sinhye had said. And she was right. This was a good punishment. No good came to those who associated with Junu; this was proof of that.
“There’s nothing any of us can do,” Junu said finally. “This man will die.”
“Fine.” Miyoung moved to kneel beside Mr. Ahn, whose rasping breaths were echoing through the kitchen. There was a death rattle in his chest, one that Junu was far too familiar with.