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Somewhere in the distance, I hear Micah call for me.

“London, answer me. I know you’re there.”

One scream. All I have to manage is one scream. But I’m too petrified to utter a word, not with how unhinged Ezra is and all that rage burning inside him. I understand it all too well, given the intense emotions this island brings out of us. One single overwhelming thought has the power to cripple you. At this moment, my mind mirrors Ezra’s, shrouded in darkness.

I’ve underestimated him.

Ezra is just as capable as Micah to do fucked-up shit, and right now, he is wounded and vulnerable. He cut Thomas’s hand, pressed a knife to Micah’s throat, and pulled me out of my shelter and let Naomi and Nigel hurt me. He took me and held me captive these past few days.

I finally realize what I should have known all along. I’m alone here. Truly alone. We all are. Everyone still alive is fucking deranged.

My anger consumes me, a dark cloud blotting any amount of light within me.

I hate this island. I hate everyone on it.

Especially Micah Matei.

Ezra drags me deeper into the woods with his hand still clamped over my mouth, which is entirely unnecessary. I’m resolved to not scream. I’ll never scream again.

As my oxygen dwindles, darkness engulfs my world.

I should have known… I’m not special to Micah. He needs release, and he will get it from whoever will give it to him. The only person who really thought I was special is dead.

Micah taught me all winter to crave him like a pet—to only want him, obey him, and prioritize his desires. Only after was he completely satisfied would he finally give me what I wanted, and by then, I yearned for it so intensely that my skin felt like it might liquefy.

He made me fucking needy.

The weight of my grief for Maison cripples me, the force surpassing my hate and anger combined. Bundled up in Ezra’s arms, I watch as Micah and Naomi pass us in the woods. Darkness ripples, my body descending into it.

“Don’t fall asleep…The fun’s only beginning.” Those are the final words I hear Ezra whisper before I go limp and fall into an oxygen-less bliss.

It’s the stench of decaying flesh that awakens me. A hint of acidic smoke teases my nostrils to the point where I almost choke on it.

I slowly regain my senses. Strong arms are wrapped around me, and cold steel is pressed to my neck. My body is numb and limp, and every muscle screams at me as I stand, barely mobile. If it weren’t for Ezra holding me up, I doubt I would be standing. I’m completely reliant on him… I have nothing left.

I’m inside the airplane, I realize, and the residual acidic smell of the crash still lingers in the air, even after six months. I will recognize this smell for the rest of my brief life. Even in my death, it will still haunt me.

I have no memory of how I got here. The last thing I remember was Micah walking by as Ezra suffocated me.

The anger that erupted within me.

I felt all of Ezra’s rage and sadness as if they were my own—the last moments before his breaking point. Seeing Naomi with Micah was his undoing, as it was mine. I keep my eyes closed, seeing no point in opening them.

But Ezra is shaking.

Why is he shaking?

I hear Micah before I see him. Ezra tightens his hold on me in warning as two figures emerge at the front of the plane. We stay hidden among the shadows in the back as Micah steps in and looks from side to side. His eyes are narrowed and his jaw flexes as he takes in his surroundings.

Ezra must have beaten him here.

The moonlight shines bright on Naomi’s platinum hair, and I can tell, even from here, how shiny she is. How much better she looks than me. My hair, full of mud and sticks, hangs over my face. I can smell myself, and it’s not pretty. The stench from not bathing for days combined with blood, sweat, and whatever odor is coming out of the wrap on my hand.

I finally make eye contact with Micah and shake my head, knowing Ezra might do it if pressed. He might kill me. His hatred for Micah runs that deep. I didn’t think it would be Ezra ending my life. And oddly enough, Nigel is entirely missing.

Nigel would love this, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he was lurking somewhere nearby, watching the rest of us deteriorate.

Micah stands tense in front of Naomi, as if protecting her from me as I spew my anger toward them. His hair is tousled in his face, and I can’t make his expression in the dark, but I can imagine it.