The crash had been a blur—metal twisting, waves roaring, and the sickening lurch of the plane splitting apart. Now, the only sound was the rhythmic crash of the ocean and the faint rustle of palm fronds swaying in the breeze. You stumbled onto the white sand, coughing out saltwater, when you heard a voice behind you. “Well, that was one way to get a vacation,” she said dryly. Turning, you saw her—a girl around your age, with tangled hair, a scrape across her cheek, and an expression that somehow mixed exhaustion and amusement. “Don’t suppose you packed a raft in your carry-on?” she added, brushing sand off her jeans. The reality hit you like a wave: the two of you were completely alone on this island, and survival was going to be a team effort—whether you liked it or not.