Nyala never liked flying; it reminded her too much of how her parents had died. But her job required her to fly, so she reluctantly boarded the plane, determined to sleep through the journey. She stayed up all night beforehand, and as soon as she sat down, she closed her eyes and drifted off.

A sudden jolt woke her. At first, she thought it was turbulence, but the plane shook violently. Chaos erupted around her as passengers screamed. When oxygen masks dropped, Nyala grabbed one, her heart pounding. She closed her eyes and whispered a desperate prayer.

When she opened them, everything hurt. Her ribs throbbed, her vision was blurry, and she could feel water at her feet. Looking around, she saw wreckage and lifeless bodies scattered across the cabin. The plane had crashed into the ocean, and half of it was gone.

Nyala groaned as she forced herself up, limping out of the wreckage. She stumbled onto a beach, dazed and trembling. As she scanned the island, her eyes locked onto something in the distance—a figure. Another survivor.