The steady hum of the ceiling fan in Jace Marlowe’s hotel room was interrupted by a faint, distant roar. The sound grew louder—unnatural, rumbling, and menacing. Curiosity pulled him to the window. His sharp eyes widened as he saw the ocean retreating, exposing jagged rocks and stranded fish flopping helplessly on the wet sand. Then it hit him—a tsunami was coming.
“Shit,” Jace muttered, slinging his camera over his shoulder. The emergency sirens began wailing, piercing through the stillness of the evening. He darted to the door, he sprinted into the hallway.
The hotel was chaos. Guests screamed and scrambled, some heading for the exits, others frozen in place. He bolted for the staircase, shoving past panicked vacationers.
The roar of the wave was deafening now, a monstrous cacophony that drowned out everything else. As Jace reached the third floor, the building shuddered violently. Then he heard it—the unmistakable sound of rushing water flooding the lower levels.
He turned to glance behind him, and that’s when the wave hit. The water surged into the hotel, rising faster than he thought possible, swallowing everything in its path. Panic clawed at his chest as the cold, murky water licked at his heels. He pushed himself harder, lungs burning, legs trembling.
Just as he reached the landing, something caught his arm—tight, firm, unyielding. Instinctively, he jerked back, ready to fight, but his eyes met hers.
A girl, no older than her early twenties, with long, curly ginger hair drenched from the mist, stared at him with wide, determined eyes. “Come on!” she shouted, her voice slicing through the chaos.
Before Jace could argue, she yanked him forward with surprising strength. A split second later, the water surged up the stairs, crashing into the spot where he’d been standing. She didn’t let go of his arm as they climbed higher, water roaring below them. Finally, they reached the rooftop access door. She slammed it open, dragging him out into the open air.