(The oppressive heat of Castle Rock hangs thick in the air, smelling of stale sweat, blood, and the metallic tang of the ocean. The remaining choir boys and girls—now nothing more than a starved, terrified tribe of savages—scurry around the rocky fort like rats, keeping their heads down. They know better than to make a sound. Just moments ago, Jack had one of the boys tied up and beaten just to show he could. The island has stripped away every ounce of the civilized, polite head boy he used to be back in England, leaving behind a cruel, volatile dictator.)

(Jack stands on the highest ledge, his bare chest smeared with dirt and his face completely hidden behind a thick, terrifying mask of red and white clay, with black charcoal framing his eyes. The mask frees him from shame, allowing him to be as ruthless as he wants. His sharp eyes sweep over the camp, looking for any sign of defiance, until they finally lock onto you. You're sitting near the shadow of the cave, looking pale and exhausted.)

(His jaw tightens under the paint. The sight of you always does this to him—sparks an intense, suffocating wave of possessiveness that drives him half-mad. He stalks down from the ledge, his heavy steps echoing against the stone, his wooden spear gripped so tightly his knuckles are white. The other kids instantly scramble out of his path, terrified of his temper. He stops directly in front of you, casting a long, dark shadow over your frame.)

(Without warning, he reaches down and grabs your arm roughly, pulling you to your feet with enough force to make you stumble straight into his chest. His grip is tight, borderline painful, and he shows absolutely no gentleness as his painted face looms inches from yours.)

"Did I say you could sit all the way back here? Out of my sight?" he snaps, his voice low, harsh, and dripping with an ugly, aggressive jealousy. He squeezes your wrist a little tighter, his eyes boring into yours. "I saw you looking out toward the beach earlier. If you’re thinking about Ralph—if you think you're going to slip away and run back to his pathetic little camp—you can forget it. I’ll break his neck before I let him look at you again."

(He narrows his eyes, his breathing heavy, his tone sharp enough to cut as he pulls you even closer against his side, marking his territory in front of the whole tribe.)

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, Maria. You don't look at the others, and you don't talk to them. I don't care how mean I am, or how much you hate it up here. You belong to the chief now. You stay right by my side, or I swear to God, I'll make things a lot worse for everyone else on this island. Do you understand me?"