The music throbbed like a heartbeat in the walls of Ruin, the Castell brothers' private club perched above the city like a throne. The lights were low, the champagne poured like water, and Riven Castell had already lost track of the names of the women laughing around him. He didn't care. They were all the same-beautiful, expensive, temporary.

"Still not tired of being the headline every other day?" his twin brother, Rowan, asked dryly from across the leather booth. He wore a suit like he'd been born in it-sharp, spotless, and cold. Unlike Riven, who had his dress shirt half-unbuttoned, gold chain loose on his collarbone, eyes flickering over every body that passed.

"I'm giving the people what they want," Riven said, tipping his drink toward the ceiling like a toast to God. "They want scandal, heat, bad decisions. I'm doing a public service."

Rowan arched a brow. "Right. Because flashing your abs in Cannes and kissing a pop star on a yacht is a noble act of charity."

"It's inspirational," Riven smirked.

A woman beside him,long-legged, fake-laugh and ran a hand up his chest. "You're really not married?" she asked, pouty like it was a personal offense.

He leaned into her with a grin that had broken hearts across five continents. "Marriage is for people who want to live the same day on loop for fifty years."

"You don't believe in love?" she asked, teasing.

Riven's eyes darkened just slightly. "Love is a great way to lose yourself in someone who forgets your name when they're bored."

Rowan made a quiet sound. "Wow. Who hurt you?"

"No one," Riven said flatly. "I just figured out the trick to staying happy."

"Let me guess," Rowan said. "Don't feel anything?"

"Exactly."

Rowan stared at him. For a second, the music seemed to fade.

"You know," he said, "we're all waiting."

"For what?"

Rowan sipped his drink. "For the day you fall. Head over heels. Can't breathe. Can't think. We're betting it'll wreck you."

Riven laughed, loud and unbothered. "Not gonna happen. Love's a trap. And I don't do cages."

"You will," Rowan said, calm and sure. "One day."

There was something about the way he said it that left a taste in Riven's mouth he didn't like-like fate had already made plans for him and was just waiting for the right hour to strike.

Riven brushed it off. "Anyway. You're the one who gets off on spreadsheets and... feelings. I'll stick to jet engines and beautiful disasters."

Rowan stood. "Speaking of jet engines-your pilot called. Storm's moving fast. You're wheels up at seven."

Riven raised his glass. "Perfect. Nothing like a private flight to a private island to get away from the consequences of being too damn desirable."

Rowan didn't laugh. Just looked at him one more time and said

Just don't fall so hard you forget how to land."

The next morning, the sky was painted in strokes of gold and pink as the Castell jet sliced through the air like a silver bullet. Riven reclined in the plush leather seat, sunglasses on, glass of whiskey half-full, flipping through texts from women whose last names he couldn't remember.

"Need anything, Mr. Castell?" the flight attendant asked.

He didn't even look up. "Silence would be great."

She left without another word. Riven leaned back, closed his eyes, and let the hum of the engines lull him. He had a beachfront suite waiting, a party lined up, and two actresses flying in by nightfall. It was all perfect.

Too perfect.

It started with a flicker.

A rumble.

A pop.

Then metal screamed.

Riven jolted upright as the lights above began flashing red. The cabin tilted sharply, a roar filling the air like a monster had grabbed the plane and was shaking it out of the sky.

"What the hell.

The oxygen masks dropped. His glass exploded. Luggage tore loose. He slammed sideways against the wall as the jet dipped hard. Alarms wailed. The co-pilot's voice buzzed over the intercom, frantic and choppy: "-Mayday-systems down-engines failing-brace for impa-"

There was no time to scream.

The world flipped. Glass shattered. Then nothing.

Somewhere far away, he heard waves.

Soft at first. Then louder.

A gull cried overhead.

His eyes opened to sky-not ceilings. Not clubs. Not chandeliers.

Just sky. Wide and endless.

He was lying on sand. Shirtless. Barefoot. Soaked in seawater and blood. The sun was hot on his face. His head throbbed like it was caving in from the inside. When he tried to sit up, the pain in his ribs punched him flat again.

Where was he?

His lips cracked when he tried to speak. "Water..."

He looked around. No wreckage in sight. No phone. No one.

No name.

He couldn't remember his name.

Not where he came from. Not why he was here.

Only the cold realization that he was alone-not just physically, but in every way that mattered.

He didn't know his name.

Didn't know his story.

But somehow, deep in the hollow silence of his chest,

he felt like he had just lost everything worth knowing.

And somewhere in the distance, hidden in the trees and salt air...

someone was watching him. The air was thick with heat-the kind that made wooden desks sticky and turned the school's ceiling fan into little more than a slow-spinning tease. The scent of old chalk mixed with warm dust. Kaia Solen sat near the back of the room, a pencil tapping softly against the edge of her desk, her gaze tilted toward the open window.Beyond the schoolhouse walls, palm trees danced lazily in the breeze. Seagulls skimmed the horizon. The ocean stretched wide and endless in the distance, as familiar to her as her own heartbeat.

She wasn't dreaming of escape-she had never wanted to leave the island. It was her home. Her roots. The place that raised her.

But sometimes, when the breeze shifted just right, Kaia felt something stir. A whisper, not of restlessness, but of wonder. What lay beyond those waves? Not because this world wasn't enough, but because the world felt bigger than she was allowed to see.

"Kaia," the teacher's voice cut sharply through her thoughts. "Can you repeat what I just said?"

Kaia blinked, her face warming. "Sorry, ma'am. I didn't catch it."

A sigh followed, and the teacher moved on.

Kaia let out a quiet breath. She wasn't the troublemaking kind, but her head was always full. Not of noise, but of stories. Thoughts. Questions.

From across the aisle, her classmate Jace leaned over with a sideways grin. "You okay? You looked zoned out again."

Kaia offered a soft smile. "Just thinking."

"About what? Coconut math?"

She gave a quiet laugh. "About the sea. Wondering where the waves go."

Jace snorted. "You're weird, you know that?"

"Probably," she said, shrugging.

But she didn't mind. Kaia had never cared much for fitting in. She'd never had a phone, never touched a screen. She didn't know what an app was or why people obsessed over likes and filters. Her world was tactile-books, stories passed down by her grandfather, barefoot walks on sun-warmed stone, and herbs from her grandmother's garden.

Normal wasn't digital. It was dirt under her nails. It was salt in her hair. It was life exactly as it was.

Elsewhere, on the far side of the island...

The ocean was churning harder than usual, the waves crashing louder, sharper. As if the sea itself had something to deliver-and didn't care how.

From the edge of the trees, Tomas and Leni Solen spotted a figure stumbling along the shore. At first, Tomas thought it was a fisherman. But the man's clothing was all wrong-ripped, soaked in blood and salt.

He staggered again, like a drunk, reaching for something that wasn't there.

Then he collapsed.

Face-first in the sand.

Leni dropped her basket. "Tomas!"

They rushed to him together. He was breathing, barely. Cuts slashed across his face. Sand clung to wet blood on his temple. His hands were scraped raw.

Leni pressed her fingers to his forehead. "He's burning up."

"Doesn't look like he knows who he is," Tomas muttered.

The man groaned. Tried to speak. Failed.

Then he went still.

"Help me," Tomas said, slipping his arms under the stranger's back. "We'll take him home."

Leni wrapped her shawl around his upper body. Together, with slow steps and aching joints, they carried him into the forest path, away from the beach, away from the broken world he'd come from.

Back at the school, the bell rang, and students filed out, chattering and laughing.

Kaia slung her worn satchel over her shoulder-made from banana fiber and fraying at the edges. It carried only what she needed: old notebooks, pencil stubs, and a pocket of dried petals her grandmother said were good for clarity.

"Walking home?" Jace asked as he fell into step beside her.

"Always," Kaia smiled.

"Tell your grandma I said hi. And your grumpy grandpa too."

She grinned. "I will."

They parted at the stone bridge, and Kaia took the winding trail toward the east cliffs, past fields of cassava and rows of hibiscus that curved