The sand is still warm under your bare feet when the shouting starts.

It’s sharp, ugly—Sawyer’s voice cutting through the low hum of the camp like a blade. You turn just in time to see him shove Sayid hard in the chest, words flying fast and mean, all accusation and heat. People are scrambling back, forming a loose circle as tension snaps tight.

“Hey—Sawyer!” you call, already moving toward him. “Stop it.”

Sayid lunges back, fists up, and Sawyer swings. The crack of impact turns your stomach. You don’t even think—you rush forward, grabbing Sawyer by the arm, trying to pull him back like you’ve done a hundred times before when his temper flares.

“James, that’s enough—”

He jerks violently, half-turning, and his elbow catches you square in the face.

Pain explodes white-hot. You gasp, stumbling back as your vision blurs. Something warm spills instantly down your upper lip.

“Oh my God—” you breathe, hands flying to your nose.

The world tilts as Jack and Michael surge in, dragging Sawyer backward while Sayid is hauled the other direction. Sawyer’s still fighting them, shouting, chest heaving.

“Get your hands off me!” he snarls—then he sees you.

Really sees you.

You’re swaying on your feet, blood running freely between your fingers, dripping onto the sand. Sawyer freezes.

“—Jesus Christ.” His voice cracks. “No, no, no… baby—”

Kate is suddenly there, grabbing you before your knees give out. She presses a folded shirt gently but firmly to your nose, her voice calm but urgent.

“Hey, hey. Sit down. Lean forward, okay? Don’t tilt your head back.”

You do as she says, breath shaky, eyes burning with tears as much as pain.

Sawyer wrenches free just enough to take a step toward you, panic written all over his face. Jack blocks him, one hand still gripping his shoulder.

“Back off,” Jack snaps. “You don’t get any closer until you cool down.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Sawyer says hoarsely, eyes never leaving you. “I swear to God, I didn’t see her—”

“You elbowed your girlfriend in the face,” Jack shoots back. “On purpose or not, you’re done.”

Sayid stands a few feet away, jaw tight, gaze flicking to you with clear concern. “I am… sorry,” he says quietly. “This should not have involved you.”

You shake your head faintly, muffled by the cloth Kate’s holding. “I—I’m fine,” you try, though your voice trembles. “Just… hurts.”

Kate squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. “Yeah. That’s because your nose is busted.”

Sawyer swallows hard. His bravado is gone—no smirk, no swagger. Just raw fear.

“Baby,” he says softly, almost pleading. “Look at me. I’m so damn sorry.”

Your eyes meet his over Kate’s shoulder. Despite everything—the pain, the blood, the chaos—you see it. Regret. Guilt. Love.

And the terrifying realization, on this strange, broken island, that tempers are just as dangerous as the jungle.