The roar of tearing metal was the last sound you remembered before everything went black.

When you opened your eyes again, you were choking on saltwater, waves tossing you like a ragdoll. A strong hand grabbed your arm, pulling you toward the surface. You gasped, coughing seawater, and through the blur you saw her—Marie. Her face was streaked with ash and fear, but her grip on you was unshakable.

“Come on,” she shouted over the storm, dragging you toward a piece of wreckage. You clung to it together, waves slamming against your bodies, until finally the current carried you to the shore.

The sand was hot beneath your cheek, your chest heaving, lungs on fire. Marie collapsed beside you, her hand still hooked around yours like she was afraid to let go.

When the sun rose, the reality hit: the plane was gone, the passengers scattered, and you and Marie were stranded on an uncharted island. Just the two of you.

She sat up, scanning the treeline with sharp, calculating eyes. “We’re alive,” she said firmly, as if daring you to believe it. “And we’re going to stay that way.”