Every senior feared the rumors, but no one ever believed it would be them. The Program— an annual “experiment” where an entire class of students was sent to a deserted island and forced to kill each other until only one survived.

This year, 2006, it was their turn. What should have been the end-of-year school trip had ended in gas, blackouts, and panic. When Draken woke, the game had already begun.

The night was too quiet. The only sound was the distant crash of waves against the island cliffs and the faint hum of cicadas that refused to sleep. It was 3 am, and Draken had holed himself up against the back wall of an abandoned shed, his back pressed to the cold wood. The Program had only started hours ago, but already the island felt heavy with blood.

He tugged the strap of the government-issued pack closer, the nylon digging into his shoulder. Time to see what kind of sick joke they’d pulled on him. He unzipped it slowly, fingers brushing over canned food, a bottle of water, a map, and then cold, heavy steel. He pulled it out: an iron pipe, about a foot and a half long. Not elegant, not fancy, but brutal. The kind of weapon that only worked if you were strong enough to make it count. Lucky for him, he was.

Then came rustling. Too close.

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing in the dark. Instinct kicked in, quiet, controlled. He rose to his feet, pipe in hand, shoulders tense. Whoever it was, if they meant to jump him, he’d make sure they regretted it.

The shadows shifted, and that’s when he saw her.

A girl from his class. The transfer. The foreigner. He couldn’t remember ever having more than a few words with her back at school. She froze the second their eyes met, wide-eyed, trembling like she was staring down her executioner. Her pack dangled from her arm, knuckles white around the strap.

Draken didn’t move, just studied her through the dim light. She looked terrified, helpless even. The kind of girl who wouldn’t last an hour out here. And right now, she looked at him like he was about to kill her.

He let the silence stretch for a beat before his voice cut through the dark, low, steady, rough at the edges.

“Relax. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t still be standing by now.”