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He drops with it, just enough that my heart leaps into my throat and a new level of deep, horrifying fear is unlocked.

But then he stretches out and clamps his hand on the balcony railing. He catches it before the rest of the cable falls away and takes him with it.

I scramble toward the edge to grab his arm. I’m pulling with as much strength as I have left. He’s dragging himself up as I do, teeth gritted and sweat gleaming on his pale skin.

When he rolls over the ledge, he wipes me out with him, collapsing on top. I’d be fine passing out like this. I’m so damn exhausted that my arms are jelly. My lungs ache and burn. I feel lightheaded and like I can’t function.

But our escape isn’t over yet.

Jin’s springing to his feet, pulling me up with him.

“C’mon,” he pants. “We have to make it out of this building. There’s a stairwell we can use. The fire’s spreading. Which means this place is next.”

I can’t even answer, letting him drag me through the shattered door of this other apartment. He must’ve broken it on his way to rescue me when he first zip-lined across.

It doesn’t even matter. I’m just relieved to be alive.

I’m sitting on the edge of a narrow bed as I breathe through an oxygen mask and Dr. Baek cleans the gash on my palm. The iodine stings like hell, but I’m so exhausted I don’t even flinch. I’ve reached a point where the pain has melded together—burning lungs, aching limbs, stinging scrapes, and throbbing bruises.

Smoke lingers in my throat no matter how much clean air I breathe.

After Jin’s apartment building collapsed and we escaped the scene of the fire, he brought me a few coastal villages over. Jogae-jip, translated to the Shell House, is a small inn tucked into a narrow cove by the water. The place is made up of an all-wood interior and only has five or six rooms for guests.

There’s no front desk. Just an innkeeper who greeted us when we pulled up and then showed us to our quiet, private room.

Now, I’m being seen by a man named Dr. Baek Young-dae. He’s a short, plump man who speaks softly and has a head shaped like an egg. Jin claims he’s known him for over a decade. He was once a practicing doctor at a public hospital in Busan before he got caught up in a malpractice scandal that caused him to lose his license.

Jin says he still works often for the Baekho Pa, answering their calls when they need a quick and proficient doctor outside of the legal medical system.

He arrived not long after me and Jin checked into the Shell House. Armed with a leather doctor’s bag that had a red crossstitched across the front and a large oxygen tank, he’s been steadily working on me for over an hour.

“Deep, but clean,” he mutters more to himself than me. He’s cleaned out the gash across my palm, then grabs a needle and thread to stitch it shut.

I’m left to bite down hard on my lip and look away as he pricks away at my flesh.

I’ve never had stitches before. I’m not even a fan of needles or blood.

“There was no sign of infection,” he assures me once he’s done. “It’ll heal soon enough.”

My gaze drops to the jagged, crescent moon stitched across my palm. Blood crusts along the edges before he wipes that away and wraps it tightly up in gauze.

“Keep it dry. Don’t mess with the dressing except to change it once a day. Antibiotics twice a day. If it gets red or swollen or your flesh feels hot—you call me,” he says in a thick accent. “I’ll come, yeah?”

Oxygen mask still pressed against the lower half of my face, I nod obediently.

He looks over his shoulder at Jin, who’s remained relatively quiet. “Yeah? All good, Jin-tae?”

“Her lungs,” Jin says. “Will she be okay?”

“The oxygen is clearing her out,” explains Dr. Baek. He taps the oxygen tank beside the bed. “She inhaled a lot of carbon monoxide. This will flush her out and help her inflamed lungs.”

“Leave the tank.”

“But, Jin-tae?—”

“I’ll cover it in the bill. Tell me how much and it’s yours. What else will help?”

“The smoke did a number on her—both of you. Bronchial inflammation. Mild burns to the throat lining. You’re breathing, but not well. I’m prescribing steroid tablets. It will reducethe inflammation and prevent respiratory distress. If you can manage it, steam and hydration should also help. You’ll be coughing for days. Call me if it doesn’t get better, yeah?”