“Now,” Chen Jian said, holding the battery in one hand, “I need a little piece of foil.”
Nobody moved.
The survivors stared at him as though he had asked for a gold bar.
“Foil?” Kael Rainer repeated hoarsely. “You want foil? We're freezing to death, and you're asking for kitchen supplies?”
Chen didn't bother answering.
A woman from the administration department fumbled with her damaged handbag. After a frantic search, she produced a packet of chewing gum, its outer wrapper soaked and crumpled.
“This is all I have.”
Chen took it, peeled away the useless packaging, and examined the thin metallic lining inside.
“Good enough.”
He carried the materials behind a massive boulder, where the rock shielded him from the worst of the wind. There, he prepared a small bundle of dry fibers and moss, working carefully despite his stiff fingers.
The others crowded around, their faces pale in the harsh beam of Javi's flashlight.
No one understood what Chen was trying to do. Until that moment, most of them had barely noticed him. He was the quiet husband of Wang Lan from the finance department, a structural engineer who spent his days behind drawings and calculations rather than fighting for attention in the office.
Now, he was their last hope.
Chen used the foil and battery to create a brief, concentrated spark. It was a delicate attempt. For one terrifying second, nothing happened.
Then a tiny glow appeared among the fibers.
“It's working,” someone whispered.
Chen bent low, shielding the fragile ember with his hands. He blew gently, pausing whenever the wind threatened to steal the heat away.
A thin thread of smoke rose.
The glow brightened.
Then a small orange flame flickered into existence.
“Fire!” Javi shouted. “He did it!”
The beach erupted.
Men who had spent the last half hour cursing one another suddenly crowded around Chen, cheering as though he had won them a fortune. A few nearly cried with relief.
Kael pushed his way to the front, using his shoulders to force the others aside.
“Move! Give it room!”
He planted himself beside the little flame, stretching his hands toward it. The warmth was barely enough to reach his fingers, but he stared at it with desperate gratitude.
Elara Voss slowly lowered herself onto a rock.
For the first time that evening, the strain in her face eased.
“Excellent work, Chen.” She drew a shaky breath. “Your twenty million will be paid once we get back.”
Chen didn't respond. He was too busy trying to keep the fire alive.
Then the others began bringing over fuel.
Unfortunately, almost everything they found was wet.
Seaweed, salt-soaked driftwood, rotting branches pulled from the surf—people dragged it all toward the flame. They were frightened and exhausted, and no one wanted to waste precious time looking for better materials.
The first bundle hit the fire.
A loud crack split the air.
The wet wood began to steam. Within seconds, thick white smoke billowed upward, followed by a sharp, choking stench.
The wind shifted.
Smoke rolled straight into the crowd.
“Cough! Cough!”
Elara doubled over, covering her mouth. Her eyes watered violently, and every breath sent another spasm through her chest.
Lila Hart stumbled backward, coughing until tears ran down her face.
“Get it away from me!” she gasped.
Nobody listened.
The wind was brutally cold. Away from the fire, their wet clothes offered almost no protection. The survivors had been chilled to the point of shaking, and the little flame remained the only source of warmth they had managed to create.
So they stayed.
They crouched around the smoking fire, weeping and coughing, while the wind drove the fumes into their faces.
Somewhere beyond the rocks, the waves crashed against the shore.
And from high above them came the smell of food.
It drifted down the slope in warm, savory waves—the unmistakable smell of cooked meat.
Elara's stomach clenched.
She pressed a hand against it, furious at the involuntary sound that escaped her.
She had attended dinners where a single bottle of wine cost more than an ordinary employee's annual salary. She had dismissed restaurants because the chef had failed to impress her. Now the scent of canned meat, cooked over a rough wood fire, was enough to make her mouth fill with saliva.
“Someone should ask Kai for food,” a man muttered.
Kael shot him a furious look.
“Then go ask him yourself.”
The man lowered his head.
Nobody volunteered.
They had seen what Kai had done with a knife. They had heard him tell Kael that the rules of the company no longer mattered. No one wanted to be the next person standing beneath that blade.
Near the edge of the group, Tyler sat hunched over with his arms wrapped around his knees. His stomach twisted painfully, but he barely noticed. The sight of the fire had given him hope. The smoke was slowly taking it away.
“Ms. Voss,” he said weakly, “what time is it?”
Elara looked down at her watch.
The second hand jerked backward.
She blinked and shook her wrist, but the hands continued to move erratically, racing forward and then snapping back.
“What?”
“My watch is broken,” Tyler said. “So is Javi's.”
Lila raised her wrist. The hands on her Cartier watch were doing the same thing.
A wave of unease passed through the group.
Time had been their anchor. They had spent the afternoon telling themselves that the helicopter would arrive before midnight. It was a promise they could count down to, a deadline that made the suffering seem temporary.
Now, they couldn't even agree on what time it was.
Was it eight o'clock? Nine? Had midnight already passed?
“Don't be ridiculous,” Elara snapped, but her voice lacked conviction. “The watches are damaged. That doesn't mean anything.”
She stared at the black screen of her satellite phone.
Then she looked at the sky.
The purple-red glow still twisted above the sea, turning the horizon into something unfamiliar and deeply unsettling.
“Midnight,” she repeated quietly. “We just have to make it to midnight.”
High above the beach, Kai Reed sat beside a fire that burned cleanly.
The camphor wood crackled softly, releasing a pleasant, resinous scent. The cave remained warm and dry, and the smoke escaped through the entrance instead of filling the shelter.
Sora Mae sat a short distance away, wrapped in what remained of her shirt. The sharpened wooden spear lay within reach.
Neither of them had much to say.
Kai's golden system flickered into view.
[Current Time: 9:05 p.m.]
[Environmental Temperature: 8°C.]
[Survivor Group: Severe hunger and exposure. Collective judgment deteriorating. First cases of cold-related collapse may occur within the next three hours.]
Kai glanced toward the beach.
Only a small, dirty glow marked the location of the others. Smoke rose into the strange sky.
He could almost imagine Kael standing over that miserable fire, trying to order the flames into behaving.
Kai shook his head.
“What's so funny?” Sora asked.
“Nothing.”
She followed his gaze toward the beach. “They managed to make a fire?”
“They made something that burns.”
“That sounds like the same thing.”
“Give it time.”
Sora looked at him, uncertain whether he was joking.
Kai checked his supplies again. He had enough wood to get through the night, though he would need to gather more tomorrow. His water was still limited, and the additional food from the storage case would help, but not indefinitely.
He couldn't afford to waste anything.
The world below was changing faster than the survivors understood. They had relied on their titles, their money, and the promise of a helicopter. When those things failed, they would search for something else to give them power.
Food.
Water.
Warmth.
Kai rose and added another piece of camphor wood to the flames.
“There's no midnight on this island,” he said.
Sora looked up.
“What does that mean?”
“It means waiting for a clock to save you is no different from waiting for the ocean to apologize.”
He sat back down.
“From now on, we pay attention to what is actually happening. Not what we hope will happen.”
Below them, the survivors coughed in the smoke.
Above them, the strange sky continued to glow.
And somewhere between those two worlds, the old rules were dying.