Dr. Jang finally clears her throat and offers Hwanung a friendly smile. “Around this time of day, Seokga is usually swimming on Deck 9.” Sweet relief cools Kisa’s anxiety—only slightly. The old shaman lied…for Seokga. Surely Dr. Jang knows that Seokga would rather die than swim in the cruise ship’s main pool, where guests shoot out of water slides and more often than not land atop another swimmer.

“I’ll be heading up there, then. It was nice to see you, Heejin.” Hwanung pauses awkwardly, a hand toying with his lip piercing. It glimmers in the hallway light. “Thanks for last time, by the way.”

Her smile is grandmotherly. “Did things ever work out with that girl?”

A wince comes from the young god. “No. But the couple’s sessions helped for a little while until she—” Hwanung breaks off, shaking his head. Metal glints, and Kisa sees that he has small silver piercings in his ears. “I don’t want to bother you.”

“Please, Hwanung,” Dr. Jang says with a laugh, wrinkled face dimpling. It occurs to Kisa that she’s deeply fond of him in an almost familial way. “I don’t mind. I’ll walk with you to Deck 9, and you can tell me everything. I won’t even charge a session fee.”

As the pair leaves, Kisa shakes her head. Hwanung isn’t acting like a murderer revisiting the scene of his crime. If anything, he’s acting like a confused teenage boy searching for his father. It could be a convincing act, of course, but as their backs recede down the hallway, Kisa doesn’t find herself following them.

Instead, she’s studying the door of Dr. Jang’s room—the door that’s been left slightly agape. Dread pools low in her stomach. The red thread flutters, perhaps in concern.

But the therapist’s door has been left open, and Kisa has a notebook in her pocket filled with theories that she needs to either put to rest or confirm. She can dart in, then back out, before hurrying to warn Seokga of his nephew’s presence on the boat. Besides…Kisa’s hand flutters to the pocket of her scrubs, where she put the bottle of lotion before leaving her room.

She should return it. She can’t stand the smell of it.

Determinedly, she slips down the corridor and into Dr. Jang’s room. Her heart pounds fiercely in her chest as she takes in the small suite, the queen-sized bed and adjoining bathroom. There’s a bright yellow suitcase resting on one of the suite’s cushy chairs, spilling assortments of random, vibrant clothes. Kisa spots another rubber-deck patterned set buried somewhere underneath Hawaiian shirts and wide-rimmed hats.