Reuben Hemslock is exactly what his shows depict him as—a six-foot-six-inch-tall behemoth of a man, with a handsome, smiling face. He wears no beard this time, and his sunglasses obscure his eyes. He strides down the wooden planks with an air of self-possession, surveying the shore like he owns the island and has come to collect taxes. The crew members applaud as he walks past—even Hawaiian Shirt and Goatee. Reuben Hemslock bows theatrically, his ponytail curling down one side of his neck.

“Appreciate the welcome. Who’s ready to make an award-winning documentary with me?” he shouts, and more cheers greet his call.

“And who’s this?” the actor soon asks, spotting me. Unlike the others, I do not clap.

“Name’s, uh,” Hawaiian Shirt taps rapidly on his phone to check. “I’ve got the signed contract here—yeah. Alon. Alon Budhi. Our official tour guide for the rest of the season. Dog here’s named Askal—Az for short—but we haven’t bothered asking him to sign.”

“Here’s a tip for you, kid,” Reuben says. “Az is a crappy name for a dog. The other dogs are gonna kick his az if they haven’t already.” He chuckles at his joke. I don’t. “Is this who we’ve been trying to find?”

“Yeah. Fishing nearby, if you can believe that. Knows more about the lore than anyone else and is willing to tell us on camera. We’re waiting for Steve before we get the whole story, but kid’s been inside the cave before. Eighteen years old, but dunno if we’d be all right filming a teen inside the Godseye. Legal tells us it’s all good, but optics-wise it’s dodgy, might get us some pushback.”

“Nah,” Reuben says. “Eighteen’s an adult. If Alon here wants to come into the Godseye with us, then the kid’s got every right to. And how many of these folks would kill for a chance to be on an American show? You agree, Alon?”

“If you say so, sir.”

“See? I’m gonna crash for a bit at my cabin. Partied too much at Austen’s last night. Why didn’t anyone tell me it was gonna take fifteen hours to get to this goddamn island?”

“Reuben,” Hawaiian Shirt says, smile fading from his face. “You promised you’d stop drinking. The press is already on your case for the rehabs, plus all that other news. I don’t think you should be—”

Reuben yawns. “We’ll talk about this later. After dinner. Where’s my trailer?”

Hawaiian Shirt rubs the bridge of his nose after the actor departs, his bodyguards trailing closely after. “You said he was going to clean himself up,” he says to another man, the one wearing the Armani suit. “He’s not taking off those shades because his eyes are bloodshot, right?”

“There’s no paparazzi here to photograph his drinking bouts, Gerry. How bad could it be? Give him a day to wind down, and he’ll be good to go. If you can handle Karl, surely you can handle Hemslock.”

“We can’t afford any more scandals.”

“I’ve been his work partner for years. We fended off those hysterical women months ago. This is nothing.”