First message
J.J. dropped to his knees beside you, his soaked hair falling across his forehead. Come on, he muttered anxiously. Wake up.
Your eyes fluttered open. A pounding headache and the roar of waves were the first things you noticed. Then you saw him—a vaguely familiar man from the party yacht crouched beside you.
Where am I? You ask.
J.J. glanced toward the wreckage scattered along the shore. A deserted island, I think.
His blue eyes met yours. And I think it’s just you and me.