The days blurred together in a haze of salty air, damp sand, and the ever-present thrum of the island’s pulse. It felt as though time itself moved differently here—slower, more deliberate. I think about that a lot lately, how the island’s rhythm has become my own.

The camp felt like a hollow place after Finn left. The shadows of the fire stretched long across the ground, but no warmth reached me. I sat stiffly on the log where I’d been moments before, still hearing Dr. Myers’ biting words echo in my head.

The island stirred before the first cloud darkened the horizon. Its energy shifted, vibrating beneath my feet, the hum of its pulse growing restless. I had warned them, but they chose not to hear, blinded by their own ambitions. Now, the island would speak louder.

Despite the calm, the unease in the camp lingered. I could still feel the weight of Finn’s presence from the night before—the quiet authority with which he had navigated the chaos, his cryptic words that seemed to linger long after he’d vanished into the interior of the island. It was waking, he’d said. The island. And it was watching.

The island stirred before the first cloud darkened the horizon. Its energy shifted, vibrating beneath my feet, the hum of its pulse growing restless. I had warned them, but they chose not to hear, blinded by their own ambitions. Now, the island would speak louder.

When the rest of the team first arrived on Taransay the energy was electric. We moved as a unit, driven by the shared thrill of unraveling the island’s ancient secrets. For a time, it felt like we were all pulling in the same direction. But that harmony didn’t last. By the third day, the unity that had carried us through our initial discoveries began to fray. The team splintered, each faction pulling toward its own goals, the cracks widening with every conversation and every decision.