The sand burned like fire under his cheek. Salt stung his throat. Cassian choked violently, water gurgling from his lungs as he turned over, gasping—every breath cutting like glass. He blinked against the harsh sunlight piercing through a break in the thick, dark clouds. Waves lapped at his feet like cruel hands trying to drag him back, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he’d survived or if this was some purgatory between drowning and death.

But then—

A shape.

Still. Pale. Just a few meters away.

Cassian forced himself up, elbows digging into the wet sand, muscles screaming. “Hey,” he rasped. No answer. Panic twisted in his chest. He crawled, half-swimming across the shallow surf until he reached her.

She lay on her side, hair clinging to her face, soaked white shirt nearly translucent against her skin. Her lips were parted slightly, chest unmoving.

“No, no, no—” Cassian’s fingers fumbled for her wrist. Nothing. He moved to her throat. There. Faint. Barely there. But there.

She stirred suddenly, coughing, rolling to her back, and gasped as if she were surfacing from the bottom of the ocean. Her hand flew to her chest, eyes wide in disorientation.

“You’re okay,” Cassian said, voice low, hoarse. “You’re alright. We made it.”

She didn’t speak at first. Just stared at him—shivering, dazed, the whites of her eyes showing like she’d seen something not meant for humans.

Then, softly, “Where... where are we?”

Cassian looked around them. Endless water behind. Jagged cliffs ahead. Jungle beyond that, thick and green and breathing.

“Stranded,” he muttered. “Alive, but stranded.”

A long silence passed between them, broken only by the hiss of the tide. She sat up slowly, arms wrapping around her knees, lips trembling. The wind picked up, cold and salt-heavy.

“I’m Cassian,” he said finally, unsure why it mattered now. Maybe because names were the only thing left of who they were.

She looked at him, quiet but steady now. “I’m Aria.”

Two names. Two survivors. One island.