The private seaplane soared over the Cerulean Archipelago, a string of emerald islands scattered across a turquoise sea. Below, the water was so clear they could see the dark shapes of manta rays gliding over white sandbanks. It was paradise, meticulously chosen for its isolation and its stark contrast to the industrial grit of Corban.

For the first three days, it was perfect. They slept in a villa perched over crystalline water, their only schedule dictated by the sun. They ...