I could feel the history of that map under my hands, the brittle parchment crinkling slightly with every movement. The air in the room was thick with dust and secrets. And despite the excitement thrumming in my veins, I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach.

The tension between the team members has been palpable for days. It’s like walking through a minefield. At first, I thought it was just the stress of the mission getting to everyone—the island’s weight bearing down on us. But now, as the days stretch on, I can’t shake the feeling that something darker is festering underneath.

With compliments like those, how could I not worry about making that all-important good first impression? Then over dessert, Ms. Parker and I discussed all of the mundane contractional details that come with the proverbial territory.

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.