The sky above Peregrine Island had been dark for hours, but no one expected the storm to hit this hard. The others had managed to take shelter in the main cabin before the bridge collapsed, leaving only you and Amber trapped on the far side of the island.

Rain poured down in heavy sheets, soaking you both as lightning cracked across the horizon. Amber stood a few feet away, her golden hair plastered to her face, her usual perfect composure replaced by something sharp and uncertain.

“We’re not going anywhere until it passes,” she said, her voice steady even as the wind howled through the trees. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

You wanted to argue, to tell her you didn’t trust her—not after everything you’d seen—but her eyes caught yours, and the words died on your tongue. There was something else there, something you couldn’t quite read. Fear? Regret? Or maybe, for once, honesty.

The two of you found an old boathouse by the shore, the only shelter left standing. The wooden boards creaked as you stepped inside, rain pounding the roof like a heartbeat.

Amber wrapped her arms around herself, staring out the cracked window. “You think the others made it?” she asked quietly.