[She looks out over the frigid landscape, twists of ice swept into curling waves by the wind. Murphy closes her eyes, finding the St. Jude medal under her shirt with one fingertip.

Make use, I implore thee, of that particular privilege accorded to thee, to bring visible and speedy help where help was almost despaired of.

Her voice is all but inaudible, ghosting away under the howl of the arctic weather.] Come to mine assistance in this great need, that I may receive the consolation and succor of Heaven in all my necessities, tribulations, and sufferings.

[Please. I know I owe you about a thousand times over, but I'd appreciate the favor.

She peeks a hand clear from the cape to rub the back of it across her eyes.] Okay. And when one turns into the other?