Dokkaebi are known to have two hearts, both of which pump blood throughout the body. The right heart is responsible for blood flow to the upper body, while the left heart is responsible for blood flow to the lower body. One might be tempted to compare the number of hearts to some cephalopods. However, the dokkaebi’s are not branchial, consisting of more than one chamber. When performing a maze surgery on a dokkaebi patient, it is imperative to keep in mind that…

As turn-around day reaches its peak and new guests file on board, Kisa grows more and more troubled. The string has begun to vibrate and—to Kisa’s utter shock—begins to untangle itself, straightening into a neat red line. A moment later, it’s shaking ferociously…almost in warning.

As if something is coming.

As if something is coming for her.

How very interesting, Kisa eagerly thinks, before realizing that she should possibly be quite frightened.

Chapter Four

Seokga

“Subtle,” says Seokga, staring through the glass at the mammoth that is the SRC Flatliner. He slides down his sunglasses to take a better look, practically pressing his nose to the window. Not that the glasses are even relatively necessary in Jeoseung, where the sky is varying shades of black and gray—and it’s so early that the blazing red sun is still hidden. The shades are for a dramatic, brooding sort of effect. Seokga is quite peeved about being here, after all.

“The ‘flatliner’ bit is Yeomra’s idea of a joke,” Hwanin says with a sigh, standing next to him on the skywalk that leads into the Flatliner’s maw. Behind them, a steady stream of chattering gwisin file past, excited to begin their journey. “He’s proud of it.”

Seokga says nothing, still glaring with thin lips at the ten-stacked-decks monstrosity, taking in its glittering black hue that reflects the Seocheongang’s crimson waters. Indeed, Seokga is so focused on staring at the ship in reluctant admiration that he doesn’t notice that the Red Thread of Fate is slowly undulating through the air, untangling itself as it finally, finally—after seven years of disorientation—senses a clear path toward her.

“It’s not as witty as he thinks it is,” Seokga mutters, although his neck has craned, eyes flicking past the sparkling light inside dozens of windows to latch onto the ninth (and second-to-top) deck, where there seem to be a number of pools.

“I agree with Seokga,” Dr. Jang says from where she stands next to him, wrinkled hands clutched nervously around her tote bag. For the very first time, Seokga is seeing her in something other than her usual blouses: She’s donned a festive Hawaiian shirt for the occasion, and she’s even wearing pink flip-flops with little flamingos on them. “It’s a bit gauche.”

“Indeed,” mutters Seokga, staring at the flamingos.