Callista’s heart slammed harder the longer she crouched there. Every word she overheard added weight to the panic building in her chest. Her palms were sweaty, her knees screaming from crouching so long, and her body trembled in that awful, hot-cold way that always came before a breakdown.

Screw it!

She shoved the door open.

It creaked wide, and both men turned instantly—Sam straightened, jaw tight, eyes narrowing in surprise, while the older man’s brows lifted like he hadn’t expected her to be standing on her own two feet, let alone eavesdropping.

Her mouth moved before she could think.

“I’m not some half-conscious lab rat you get to whisper about behind my back!”

Neither of them said anything at first. Just stared at her like she was some ghost that had walked into the wrong room.

She stepped outside, barefoot, still wrapped in that thin blanket from the bed. The breeze hit her skin, sending a chill up her arms, but she didn’t stop.

“You’re talking about scans and sedatives and dragging me to the mainland like I’m not right here—alive, standing, hearing every damn word.”

Sam took a cautious step toward her, palms out like he was trying not to startle her. “Hey—easy,” he said carefully, watching her like she might bolt or explode. “Just... slow down a second.”

“No,” she cut in, voice shaking but sharp. “You said I was safe here. You didn’t say I’d wake up to two complete strangers planning my next move.”

The older man gave Sam a sideways look, muttering, “Told you she was alert.”

Callista shot him a glare. “And you—who the hell are you?”

He didn’t blink. “Mitch. I’m a medic. And if you weren’t up and yelling, I’d still be recommending Sam get you airlifted out before you crash.”

“I’m not crashing,” she snapped. “I’m pissed off.”

Sam sighed quietly. “Look, I didn’t mean to keep anything from you. Mitch just showed up—he checks in on me now and then.”

“Why?” she demanded. “Because you’ve got a habit of collecting shipwrecked women?”

Mitch let out a quiet whistle, muttering, “She’s got bite. I like her.”

Callista turned her glare back to Sam. Her voice lowered. “Just tell me the truth. All of it. Because if I find out you knew more than you’re saying—”

“You’ll throw tea at me?” he said, eyebrow raised.

She didn’t smile. Not even close.

Sam’s expression sobered. “No more lies. You want answers? You’ll get them. But you need to sit down before you pass out again.”

“I’m fine,” she said, but her legs swayed a little too obviously.

Mitch tilted his head. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

Callista hesitated… then cursed under her breath and stomped back into the cabin, the blanket swishing behind her like a storm cloud. She didn’t slam the door, but the way it swung behind her made her point loud and clear.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

She paced once across the room before dropping onto the edge of the couch, body still aching, but her rage doing a damn good job of masking the worst of it.

Footsteps followed—heavy and light. Mitch entered first, calm but wary, while Sam hovered just behind him, watching her closely like she might explode or collapse at any second.

She crossed her arms. “Well? Don’t just stand there like you didn’t just have a whole conversation about me.”

Mitch held up a hand as he took a careful seat on the edge of the chair across from her. “Look, I’ll go first. I’m sorry. I checked on you while you were asleep.”

Callista blinked. “What?”

“You were out cold. Breathing steady, no movement, like deep sedation. I didn’t poke around too much—just wanted to make sure you didn’t have internal bleeding or signs of a concussion. Basic stuff.”

Her stomach turned a little at the thought. “I didn’t feel anything.”

“You wouldn’t have. You were out like a light,” Mitch said, tone matter-of-fact, not defensive. “Honestly, I was surprised. Most people flinch or mumble or twitch. You? You didn’t even move.”

Sam leaned against the wall beside the door, arms folded now, eyes unreadable.

Mitch glanced between them, then added, “That’s why I asked if you’d been medicated. You sleep like someone who’s been on something heavy. Or still is.”

“I’m not on anything,” Callista said quickly, then paused. Her brows pulled together. “I mean… not willingly.”

Mitch nodded like that answer didn’t surprise him at all. “Any chance you were taking something before the wreck? Prescribed stuff? Antidepressants, sleeping pills, anything?”

“No.” Her voice was flat. Then she hesitated. “At least... not that I knew about.”

And that was all she was going to say.

Of course, she wouldn’t tell them everything. Not about the pills Lyla used to sneak into her drinks, or the way her mother insisted she needed to “calm down” every time she showed the tiniest spark of anger. Not about the therapist who was more interested in adjusting her dosage than listening. Not about the quiet fear that her own family had spent years trying to convince her she was broken, nearly mentally unstable.

No. That was her mess to carry. Not theirs.

She folded her arms tighter around herself, spine straight, voice clipped. “It’s not important.”

Mitch raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Sam didn’t say anything at all.

Good! She wasn’t ready to unpack the whole story. Hell, she wasn’t sure she could.

That landed with a beat of silence.

Sam finally spoke up, softer this time, his voice threading through the quiet like he was walking on glass. “Someone could’ve given you something. Without telling you.”

Callista didn’t respond.

She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, like if she stared hard enough, she could burn a hole straight through the wood.

His words were too close to the truth, and she didn’t want to give them power by acknowledging them.

Instead, she adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, slowly, deliberately—like she hadn’t heard him at all. But inside, her thoughts were racing.

Yes, she wanted to scream. Of course, they did.

But saying it out loud would make it real. It would make the betrayal too sharp, too real.

So, she said nothing. Just silence—the only armor she had left.

Callista stared at the floor. Her fists clenched around the blanket.

Lyla’s voice echoed in her memory. That high, fake laugh. “Because we love you, silly.”

She looked up again, her voice sharper. “So what now? You gonna drag me to the mainland and toss me in a hospital?”

Mitch shook his head. “Not if you don’t want to go. But you need to know what your body’s been through. You survived something that should’ve killed you. That’s not nothing.”

She nodded slowly, eyes narrowing. “So what’s your real job? You some kind of island doctor who makes house calls?”

Mitch chuckled. “Close. Retired medic. Ex-military. I live a few miles inland. I check on Sam every couple of weeks, bring supplies, talk him out of brooding.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Sam muttered. “He likes brooding more than I do.”

Callista snorted before she could stop herself.

She looked at both of them again, tension still burning in her chest but slowly starting to settle.

“I just want the truth from now on,” she said, quieter this time. “I’ve had enough of people deciding things for me.”

Sam gave a single nod. “Then we’ll start there.”

Callista exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the blanket tighter around her. She looked at Mitch, then back at Sam.

“I’m not going back to the mainland,” she said firmly. “Not yet.”

Mitch raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? You need a real doctor, a full check-up—”

“I need space,” she cut in, her voice steady. “I need to breathe without everyone trying to fix me or figure me out. I just need… time. To get stronger. On my own terms.”

She glanced around the cabin—the cluttered table, the quiet stillness, the safety in its isolation.

“This place… it’s the first time I haven’t felt like I was drowning,” she muttered. “I’m staying. At least until I can stand on my own two feet without feeling like the world’s spinning.”

Sam didn’t argue. He just gave another nod.

Mitch let out a quiet sigh. “Alright. Your call. But if you’re staying, I’m checking in again—non-negotiable.”

Callista gave a slight nod, settling back against the couch. Her body still ached, but her voice didn’t shake this time. “Fair enough.”

The old guy didn’t move yet. Instead, he shifted on his heels and glanced at Sam, then back at her. “There’s one more thing.”

She tensed. “What now?”

“I need to take a blood sample,” he said calmly. “Nothing major. Just a quick draw. I want to run some tests when I get back to the mainland.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” Mitch replied without skipping a beat, “you were found disoriented, heavily bruised, possibly drugged, and you’ve got memory gaps that don’t sit right with me. I don’t trust what’s in your system, and if someone did drug you, we might still have time to catch traces of it.”

Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

Sam spoke then, his voice lower, more careful. “It might help figure out what happened to you. You don’t have to say anything. Let the tests speak.”

Callista’s jaw clenched, and her eyes flicked between the two men. She didn’t trust easily—especially not now—but something in Mitch’s tone was clinical, not invasive. Still, the idea of her blood being sent somewhere out of her control twisted her stomach.

“If I say no?”

“Then I won’t take it,” Mitch said. “But you’d be missing a chance to get some real answers. I’m not trying to push you—I just think it’s smart.”

She rubbed her palms down her thighs, uncertain. But what if the results showed something? Something she wasn’t ready to face?

Still… wasn’t that why she was here in the first place? To stop running?

Her throat felt tight. “Fine. One vial. That’s it.”

Mitch gave her a short nod, already reaching into his bag for a small kit. “I’ll make it quick.”

And as he swabbed her arm, snapping on a pair of gloves and prepping the needle, Callista kept her eyes locked on the ceiling—wondering what, exactly, that tiny sample might reveal.

Because if something strange was in her bloodstream… then this was bigger than just a shipwreck. And someone out there had a reason to keep her quiet.

Mitch stood, gave Sam a look—one of those silent, half-warning glances that said keep an eye on her—then made his way to the door. “I’ll come back in a few days. Try not to throw anything at me next time.”

Callista managed a tired smirk. “No promises.”

The door closed behind him with a quiet thud, leaving just her and Sam again. The cabin suddenly felt smaller, heavier, like the air had thickened with unspoken things.

Sam crossed the room slowly, picked up her empty mug, and carried it back to the counter.

She watched him move, eyes narrowed slightly. “Why are you really here, Sam?”

He paused, his back still turned.

“I told you,” he said, too casually. “Peace and quiet.”

She sat up straighter. “No one lives on an island like this just for the view.”

Sam didn’t answer right away. When he finally turned back around, something flickered behind his calm expression. Something she couldn’t quite read.

“Some people just needed to disappear.”

She opened her mouth, ready to ask what he meant—but before she could speak, a low beeping sound pierced the air.

Sam’s head snapped toward the corner of the cabin. Callista followed his gaze.

A small, old-looking radio on the table—part of the clutter she’d ignored earlier—was blinking red.

Sam moved quickly, flipping a switch and adjusting a dial. The static cleared just long enough for a single sentence to come through, distorted but clear enough to understand:

“—a missing woman. If anyone spots a survivor female matching the description, report the location immediately—”

Callista froze.

Sam’s jaw tensed.

And just like that, the silence of the island didn’t feel so safe anymore.