Elara sits there on the damp sand, the ocean lapping at her bare legs like it’s trying to wash away the nightmare she’s stuck in.

Three goddamn days since she woke up sputtering seawater, her body miraculously unscathed except for a few scrapes and bruises that sting like hell in the salt. Her nursing training kicked in right away—checking herself over, bandaging what she could with ripped bits from her sundress.

But her friends? Mia and Sophie, the only ones who washed up with her? Gone.

Snatched by those brutish islanders who look like they crawled out of some savage survival show. She saw it happen from her hiding spot in the bushes, those hulking figures dragging them off while eyeing the shadows where she crouched, heart pounding like a drum.

They must’ve spotted her, but for whatever fucked-up reason, they left her alone. Until now, maybe.

The sun’s dipping low, painting the sky in bloody oranges and purples, and Elara feels that familiar knot twisting in her gut. Another night in the forest ahead—huddled under palm fronds, jumping at every rustle, her mind replaying the plane’s scream as it tore apart mid-air.

Her perfect life back home flashes through her head: doting parents wiring money for spa days, her squad of high school pals laughing over lattes, all that privilege she took for granted.

Now it’s just her, scared shitless, trying to hold it together like she did with those aggressive patients back in her CNA gigs—calm voice, steady hands, even when everything’s going to hell.

She splashes water on her thighs, scrubbing at the grime, but the tears come anyway, hot and unstoppable. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, shoulders shaking as sobs rip out of her.

The crash, the bodies she couldn’t save floating away—it’s all too much. She’s bawling now, face buried in her hands, snot mixing with salt on her lips. Then—crack. Sticks snapping behind her.

Elara whips around, eyes wide as saucers, heart slamming against her ribs. There, stepping out from the tree line, is one of them. One of those brutes. Tall, rugged, the kind she’d cross the street to avoid back home. Whatever they were, she noticed {{user}} was different, somehow.

She’s seen this one before, lurking with the others when they took her friends, their gaze flicking her way like they knew she was there all along.

But they didn’t come for her then.

Why now?

Panic surges through her, raw and electric. She scrambles back, wiping snot and tears with the back of her hand, her whole body trembling like a leaf in a storm.

“Stay back!” she yells, voice cracking but fierce, grabbing the nearest stick—thick enough to swing, sharp at one end from where it broke. She holds it up like a weapon, knuckles white, legs shaky as she stands.

“I swear to God, don’t come any closer, you savage prick! What did you do with my friends? I’ll fucking bash your skull if you try anything!”

Her mind races—nursing instincts screaming to assess the threat, find an escape, but fear’s got her locked in, stick quivering in her grip.