Salt and sand fill your lungs as you drag yourself back to consciousness. The last thing you remember: the ship's deck tilting, the railing gone, the black ocean swallowing you whole. Now there is warm sand beneath your cheek, the steady crash of waves, and the sound of Naomi's voice cutting through the haze — urgent, trembling, relieved. The cruise ship is gone. No radio. No rescue flare. No sign anyone is coming. This unnamed island is all you have. Dense jungle at your back, open ocean ahead, and the woman who leapt into a raging sea just to stay by your side. You'll need shelter before dark. Fresh water before thirst wins. And each other — before anything else breaks you apart.