Soon we climb over a ridge, and a pristine, empty beach spreads before the rising sun. I pause at the top of the dune, and my breath leaves me in a whoosh. The beach is bordered on three sides by green shrubs leading to brown hills dotted with white, skeletal trees. The blue of the ocean mirrors the sky above, while light dances off the glittering water like a pathway to heaven. In front of me, guests oooh and cameras click and whir like insects.

Farther down the beach, Xiavera waves. “Sea turtle tracks,” she calls.

Most of the guests tag behind her, but a few spread out to absorb the beauty of the moment.

In front of me, Walsh drops her small pack in the sand, and, grasping the hem of her magenta wrap shirt, pulls it over her head and completely off. I cough in disbelief. Underneath, she’s wearing a sports bra that looks more like a crop top—it’s cut long and high-necked with intricate straps crisscrossing her back. But it’s still tight and stretchy and shows off a lot of skin.

“What are you doing?” I demand, kicking up sand as I hustle down the ridge and over to her.

“Yoga.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s been days and I really need to stretch.” Toeing off her sandals, she jogs over to the packed wet sand at the water’s edge. Orienting herself so she’s parallel with the shore, she begins a vinyasa sequence. Standing with her feet together, she stretches her arms toward the sky, folds over at the waist in a swan dive, rises halfway up then full down. Fingers anchored in the sand, she hops into a plank and then pushes her chest up into cobra and back into downward dog. She holds the pose for several long seconds, ass in the air.

The other guests are watching now. A middle-aged man raises his camera. His wife lowers it with one finger. Nikolai’s mouth hangs open like a trout as he stares. Graeme is striding toward Xiavera when he stops abruptly… and pulls a double take at Walsh. His eyes widen—I can see it even at this distance.

Dread siphons down my throat and pools in my gut.

After a breath, Walsh rocks onto her toes and kicks off the ground, slowly raising her legs into a controlled handstand. It’s so beautiful—and powerful—my jaw goes slack. It’s like I’m watching a viral Instagram post unfold in real time: perfect backdrop, perfectly beautiful woman doing a perfect handstand on the perfect beach washed in perfect light.

A blur of movement catches my eye.