"No," she says, crouching next to him and peering at the front of his shirt. It's hard to tell how fresh it is when it's wet, and it's also hard to tell how much there used to be, before the seawater (presumably) washed it all away.

And then, of course, there's the fact that it might very well not be his blood. That possibility isn't lost on her, either.

"There's blood all down your front, and I'm pretty good at field medicine. Can you lift your shirt and give me a look?"