As the sun sets in the distance, the view we’re treated to is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The orange orb falls down the horizon, dancing above the crystalline waves before us, highlighting the large central bay that Prey Island and the other smaller islands around it form.

It makes it easy to see Predator Point.

“Right there is where they’ll be hosting the party,” Row says, pointing to the island that’s clear on the horizon. It isn’t even that far away. The island we’re on forms almost a crescent moon shape, the top of the closest side to us literally pointing to where he shows us. The other island isn’t as large as ours, but it’s big enough to see the compound that lights up when night falls. “On the side closest to us is the compound but on the other side of Predator Point, there’ll be a harbor where everyone parks their yachts.”

“No airstrip?” Creed asks.

Row shakes his head. “No one is allowed to fly into the island. You come by boat or not at all. Planes bring too much attention.”

Achilles sniffs. “Smart.”

While the others get to work checking over everything for us to camp in the tower, I stand there and stare at Predator Point a little longer. We’re close enough to make out the lights, but I can’t hear the tinkling laughter of the elite I expect from here. The wind is coming from a different direction. I suspect if it changes, we’ll hear the part Row speaks about.

Creed figures out how to draw up the ladder so no one can climb it while we’re sleeping, and it makes me feel better. If they really want up, they can try to climb the structure itself, but we’ll hear them long before they get to the top. Besides, one of us will always be awake. Achilles already pointed out a perfect spot to keep an eye out from on top of the tower.

We’re high enough that we sit above the trees, and it reminds me of that scene in the second Jurassic Park movie where they’re in the top canopies. It stupidly makes me feel safer even though I know this isn’t the same. Humans are less predictable than dinosaurs.

At some point, as we all settle in and eat bits of fruit we’d found in the jungle, I realize Achilles isn’t inside anymore.

“Where’d Achilles go?” I ask, frowning.

“He’s on top of the tower,” Jiro answers. “Says he prefers to sleep up there in his hammock.”

I raise my brows at the thought of his hammock being tied between two metal pieces. I sure hope he ties them knots properly. I certainly wouldn’t trust it, but knowing that he’s out there, alone, prompts me to go check on him.