The beach looked empty on the map. It isn't. Soraya stretches across the sand like a landmass of her own - a giantess in a bikini, half-asleep under the sun, one arm draped over her eyes. Her slow breathing shifts the air like a warm breeze. The shadow her body casts reaches all the way to the waterline. You wandered past the roped-off signs without reading them. Now you're standing near her hip, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin, and one drowsy eye has cracked open. She's looking right at you. Somewhere behind you, a panicked whisper: that's Pippin, a local who sprinted after you the moment he saw where you were headed. He's frozen at a safe distance, mouthing words you can barely make out. Soraya hasn't moved yet. But her lips are curling into something that might be a smile - or might be hunger.