She’s so lost in her misery that, when the hand touches her back, her entire body seizes up painfully in surprise and terror. A scream rings out from her throat before she can stop it—and she’s only saved from toppling off the ship by the same hand that closes around her arm and drags her back over the rail. Panting, shaking, and trembling, Kisa stares into a pair of outrageously pink sunglasses.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Dr. Jang says quietly. “But in my experience, sitting on a rail like that rarely signifies a peaceful mind. I wanted to ask you if you were all right. You’re Kisa, aren’t you?”

“I-I am,” Kisa whispers, barely audible even to herself. She’s shaking so fiercely that she’s afraid she might collapse. When Dr. Jang gently guides her to sit on one of the deck’s many reclining white plastic chairs, Kisa is too weak to refuse. She tries to sit on her hands to stop them from shaking as Dr. Jang sits on the edge of the chair next to her. She wishes she had sunscreen as sweat trickles down her temples and her skin burns underneath Jeoseung’s hellish sky.

“Kisa,” she says kindly, “I want you to breathe deeply in through your nose for a count of four, hold your breath for a count of seven, and exhale for a count of eight. Can you do that for me, dear?”

She latches onto the clear, logical instruction like it’s a life buoy. Inhale for four. Hold for seven. Exhale for eight. Kisa obediently follows the doctor’s rules, and gradually, her heart rate begins to steady. Her body still trembles, but the terrible panic is receding. Somewhere in between her counting, Dr. Jang ordered her a glass of ice water from a passing cruise attendant. Kisa gratefully wraps her fingers around the cold cup and drinks greedily.

“Thank you,” she whispers, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry…”

“There’s no need to thank me. Or apologize.”

In her frayed state of mind, Kisa wasn’t apologizing for the last ten minutes, but for suspecting Dr. Jang to be the murderer. Seokga is right—Jang is a shaman and has no claws. She doesn’t fit the requisites. Kisa stares regretfully down at her now-empty glass.

All those nights spent taunting death above the hospital, and not one person—not her fellow doctors, not any nurses or assistants—came to help her. It means something to her that Dr. Jang is acting like she cares. It’s…nice.

“It’s none of my business, but can I ask what sent you running to the rail like a demon of the hells was on your heels?”

Kisa manages a small smile. “You can certainly ask, but I might not tell you.”