Ren looked out at the vast, shimmering blue of the ocean from outside the jungle.

Tomorrow. If they leave tomorrow, he could be in a clinic by evening. He could end this nightmare before it took root. But the way Cilian said ’my people’ sent a different kind of chill down his spine. When they were rescued, they wouldn’t be going to a public hospital. They’d be going back to Cilian’s world.

"Look!" Kaelo pointed toward a jagged stretch of beach on the far side of the island. "The ocean has spat out more of the silver bird’s skin!"

Spread across the black volcanic sand were several large chunks of the fuselage, glinting painfully bright in the afternoon sun. But as they got closer, Ren noticed something else. A trail of debris that didn’t look like metal.

"Wait," Ren said, his pulse quickening. "Is that... a suitcase?"

He hurried forward, ignoring the ache in his waist. If it was his, or even Cilian’s, there might be something—a phone that miraculously survived, a weapon, or even just a change of clothes that didn’t feel like a costume.

But as he reached the first pile of debris, Cilian stepped in front of him, his posture suddenly rigid, his hand moving to intercept Ren.

"Stay back, Ren," Cilian commanded, his voice losing all its teasing warmth. He wasn’t looking at a suitcase. He was looking at a set of footprints in the wet sand that didn’t belong to any of the villagers.

Cilian’s hand stayed firm against Ren’s chest, his eyes narrowed as he traced the line of the footprints. They weren’t from the flat, calloused feet of the islanders; these were the heavy, treaded marks of aviation boots.

From behind a jagged piece of the silver fuselage, a man stumbled out. He looked haggard, his flight suit torn and stained with salt and engine oil, but as his eyes landed on them, a look of pure, delirious relief washed over his face.

"Mr. Vane!" the man rasped, his voice cracking from dehydration. "Thank God... I thought I was the only one who made it out before the fuselage snapped."

Ren watched as the man limped toward them. He didn’t know the pilot, but the sight of the uniform brought back the cold terror of the flight. Cilian, however, didn’t look relieved. His posture turned bone-deep rigid, his gold-brown eyes turning sharp and suspicious as he scanned the man from head to toe.

"Captain Harris?" Cilian’s voice was dangerously low, devoid of its usual playful lilt. "How are you standing here? Every emergency parachute in the cabin was shredded except for the one Ren and I used. There shouldn’t have been a way out for you."

The Captain swallowed hard, his eyes darting toward the wreckage. "I... I had a spare under the pilot’s seat, sir. Standard military-grade rig I kept for my own peace of mind. I barely had time to strap in before the cockpit sheared off. As for the co-pilot..." He looked down at the black sand, his shoulders sagging. "There was nothing I could do. He went down with the nose."

Cilian didn’t move an inch. He was dissecting the story, his fox-like mind looking for the holes.

"A spare," he repeated, the word sounding like a threat. "And where is this parachute now?"

"I buried it near the tree line so the tide wouldn’t catch it," Harris explained, wiping sweat and grease from his brow. "I’ve been trying the emergency comms on the detached tail unit, sir. They’re still drawing power, and the signal is clear, but... there’s been no response. I’ve been calling for a day and a half. Nothing but static on the other end."

Ren felt a cold, sinkhole open in his stomach. No response? He looked at Cilian, whose jaw was set in a tight, rigid line.

"You’ve been here this whole time?" Cilian asked, his gaze drifting to a small, pathetic-looking structure tucked under the shade of a leaning palm. It was a makeshift tent, crafted with thatched leaves for a roof and spindly sticks to keep it upright.

"I went through survival training back in the service," Harris said, his eyes finally flickering toward Kaelo with a look of genuine fear. "I knew how to set up a perimeter and wait for extraction. I thought the island was abandoned... at least until last night."

He paused, a strange, haunted look crossing his face.

"I heard the singing. The chanting. I wanted to go see, to find help, but I didn’t know what I was dealing with. I was afraid I’d get caught in a situation I couldn’t get out of. I didn’t know if the people here were hostile, or... or worse. Cannibals." 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

Kaelo, who had been watching the pilot with wide, curious eyes, suddenly let out a loud, grumpy huff. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking personally insulted.

"We do not eat humans!" Kaelo declared, his nose scrunching up in disgust. "We have plenty of fish and tubers. Why would we eat something as stringy and salty as you? You smell like the black smoke from the sky-bird. Revolting."

The pilot blinked, looking sheepish as he looked from the offended Omega back to Cilian. "Sorry. I... I didn’t mean to imply... I was just being cautious, and I was... scared."

Ren barely heard the exchange. His mind was stuck on the pilot’s words. No response.

"Cilian," Ren whispered, his voice trembling as he stepped closer to the Alpha. "You said your people were efficient. You said help would be here by tomorrow. If the comms are working, why aren’t they answering?"

Cilian didn’t look at him. He was staring at the makeshift tent, his mind clearly working through a dozen different scenarios.

If the Vane family wasn’t picking up the signal, it meant one of two things: either they couldn’t find them, or someone was making sure they stayed lost.

"Maybe the signal is being blocked by the volcanic minerals," Cilian suggested, though he sounded like he was testing a lie. "Don’t worry, Ren. It’ll be fine."

Then, he turned to the pilot, his eyes sharp.

"Take me to the unit. I want to hear the static for myself."