As Hajun hurries toward the supply closet, Kisa gently lifts the man’s head. To her surprise, he lets her—for some reason, she had been expecting resistance. Perhaps it’s due to the intensity of his eyes or the exact curve of his mouth, as if it is used to resting in a perpetual sneer. But the man seems to be quietly stunned as she lifts him, brushing the glass from his hair, checking for any embedded shards. None.

“Can you sit up?” she whispers, voice barely audible. Kisa sits back on her haunches, trying to remain clinical, even as he obeys, gazing at her the entire time. The intensity has blood rushing to Kisa’s cheeks, warming them a pale indigo. She’s suddenly conscious of the color, ducking away. It’s the one thing that seems to have changed from their lives above: Here, the dead always, always have blue blood. Perhaps it’s Yeomra’s reminder to them, a way to ensure denial is impossible. Or perhaps Jeoseung has no oxygen, and they breathe in something else entirely. It doesn’t matter. Perhaps it’s her little vanity, but Kisa hates it.

To hide her sudden disconcertion, she turns her attention back to the man’s hair. His eyes flutter shut for a moment as she brushes through it again to make sure there are no cuts. Only then does Kisa realize he’s trembling, just like a baby bird. When his eyes open again, she finds that she’s unable to look away. It’s as if, she thinks, they are opposite poles, and he is drawing her toward him despite her best efforts. The red thread rises between them, swirling happily, forming into tiny little…hearts? The sight is enough for Kisa to blink, breaking the man’s soft—yet intense—gaze.

“Kisa? Here.” Hajun returns with the cloth and the red thread quickly straightens itself out as Kisa snatches the fabric, presses it to the man’s head, dabbing it against the red blood…

Red blood.

Red. Blood.

“Will I live?” the man asks. His voice is low and raspy. He stares up at her with wide, sparkling eyes.

The cloth falls from Kisa’s hand. She didn’t notice it before, but she does now—and that means…That means…

He’s alive.

Chapter Six

Seokga

Kisa.

Her name is Kisa.

And she’s staring at him, small mouth agape, curly brown hair a mess as it escapes its band. This close to her, he can count the exact number of freckles on her small nose while, all the while, his heart slams itself frantically against his ribs. She has a small, heart-shaped birthmark above her left eyebrow. He can’t look away from it, mesmerized by something that—on anyone else—would be so small a detail, so insignificant, that he wouldn’t bother to notice.