She had been back in her own ward, pacing anxiously back and forth, for about five minutes (after getting herself badly lost because all the corridors looked the same) before a nurse swept around the corner and busied herself with changing the water on the side table for a fresh jug.  She frowned a bit when she saw Miran in civilian clothes trying to suppress her gibbers, but said nothing as she proceeded to strip down the bed and remake it, placing a clean hospital gown on the side.

The curtain twitched on the rail again and Kyungsoo appeared, looking a little harried.

“Are you being discharged already?” he asked in surprise when he saw Miran.

She shook her head, her nerves still jangling, and blurted out, “what are you doing here?”  It was only a little past three and work hours were nothing like officially over.

“I got an alert because something happened to Minji and I’ll be doing overtime tonight, so I thought I’d drop by quickly,” he said.  “And besides—”

Miran looked up at him, still quite freaked out.  “I-I saw Minji.”

Kyungsoo ran a critical eye over her, taking in her obviously jittery state, but before he could say anything, the nurse piped up.

“Is that Gong Minji?” she asked.  “‘They’re going to kill you’?  That one?”

She mimicked Minji’s singsong tone with near perfection and Miran shuddered.

With a sigh, Kyungsoo put his arm around Miran’s shoulders and guided her over to the visitor’s chair to sit down.

“I do wish they’d tone it down with her meds,” he muttered to himself, but Miran couldn’t help overhearing.  “It’s possible to have a lucid conversation when she’s not doped up.”

“We had three nurses quit the psychiatric ward this month because that woman freaked them out so much,” the nurse continued conversationally as she made the bed up.  “Miss Cho, if you think you’re ready to be discharged, I’ll see if I can get a doctor round to check on you, but it might be a while because there was an explosion in the munitions factory in the centre of town and there are a lot of casualties to look after.”

“Take your time,” Miran told her distractedly as Kyungsoo pried her hands apart, which she had been wringing together.  He straightened out her fingers in an almost absent way and then laid her hands gently on her knees.  She barely even noticed the nurse leaving because she was suddenly assaulted by a new wave of jitters, this time not because of her encounter earlier.

Kyungsoo crouched down on eye level with her for a few moments, scrutinising her closely, and then went to perched on the railing at the end of her bed.

“I really can’t stay long,” he said, “because I promised Minji’s psychiatrist I’d be up within the next five minutes, but while I’m here, are you feeling any better?”

“I think so.”

He nodded.  “And if you’re discharged this afternoon, is it safe for you to go home?”

Miran hesitated.  The police had wanted one more evening in her apartment, which they’d now had, but she hadn’t exactly checked her phone for a good amount of time and had no idea if they’d given her the all-clear to return.

“I don’t know.”  She explained the situation as best she could in a couple of sentences.

Kyungsoo didn’t look too pleased, but he seemed to sense there wasn’t an awful lot that could be done about it.

“If they’re having emergencies and stuff,” Miran added, “I don’t particularly want to be taking up bed space when I’m able to function well enough.”

He gave her a look as if to say are you, though?, but didn’t press it.

“Have you got your phone?” he asked.  Miran nodded and fished it out of her pocket.  He proceeded to give her his number, and then said, “let me know what the doctor’s verdict is, and if you’re discharged, send me a message so I know you’re safely somewhere with a roof over your head.  If the police still need your apartment and you can’t find somewhere else to stay, I have enough room for a guest.”

Miran blinked down at the new contact she’d just added to her phone, wondering if she’d heard that correctly or if this was all some kind of hallucination her concussion was producing.

“Now,” he said, glancing at his watch and folding his hands in his lap, “I know you’re probably itching to get out and find out who it was who attacked you—”

“He was at the hospital earlier,” Miran suddenly remembered, almost springing to her feet.

“He was?”

“His arm was in a sling and he was talking to the receptionist and I tried to chase him out, but I wasn’t well enough and—”

Kyungsoo held up his hands to cut off her rambling.  “When was this?” he demanded.

“Lunchtime.  Lunch break.  Before one.  I know it’s somebody from the agency; I just can’t put a face or name to the voice.”

Thoughtful, Kyungsoo chewed his bottom lip.  “I’ll get the turnstile records for you,” he said, “but I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.”

“Why not?  There’s only going to be one person walking around with a shot shoulder—”

“I spent the morning looking through the medical records in the agency infirmary today – got a copy of all the sick notes from everybody who didn’t come in when I went to register you as off for the day around nine-thirty – and then sat watching the footage of everybody who walked in through the turnstiles this morning.  Do you want to know how many people are off ill or have their right arms in slings?”

It took Miran a moment or two to catch his meaning, and then she crumpled, the fire knocked out of her.  “You’re joking.”

He shook his head sympathetically.  “It seemed like some kind of cosmic joke, to be honest.”

Miran groaned.  He got to his feet.

“I didn’t get the chance to interview anybody about it, but I thought you might prefer to do that yourself in the first place, since you were the one who actually fought and shot the man.  Chanyeol has all the data I’ve got for you so far – he found me halfway through the morning demanding to know where you were – he should be along in a moment or two; I think he got waylaid by a nurse on his way in.”  He hesitated.  “Actually, I should warn you Chanyeol’s one of the ones with an arm injury—”

“I sprained it playing football yesterday with my cell!” boomed Chanyeol’s voice as he swept the curtain back.

“—But I thought he’s a bit too distinctive for you not to have identified immediately,” Kyungsoo finished, gesturing to Chanyeol’s tall frame.

Miran looked at the new arrival for a moment as he beamed at her, and then shook her head.

“It wasn’t Chanyeol.  He’s too tall.”

Kyungsoo moved over to the curtain rail.  “I’m going to see what needs to be done about Minji, and then I’m going to charm the