The helicopter hadn't even fully lifted before Camille felt it—the shift.
The island shrank beneath them, that brief illusion of peace swallowed by distance, leaving only the truth behind:
They weren't escaping anymore.
They were being hunted.
Camille gripped the edge of her seat, her knuckles whitening as the ocean stretched endlessly below. The calm blue now looked different—too wide, too exposed. Like there was nowhere left to hide.
Across from her, Dante was on his phone, voice low and sharp.
"I want a full sweep of all properties," he said. "Every access point, every camera log. If someone found the island, I want to know how."
Pause.
"No. I don't want guesses. I want names."
He ended the call without another word.
Camille swallowed. "This is bad, isn't it?"
Dante didn't lie. He never did.
"Yes."
Her stomach dropped.
"But it's controlled," he added. "We're ahead of it."
"Are we?" she asked quietly.
His gaze lifted to hers—steady, unflinching.
"We will be."
