“Bodyguards all look ex-mercenary to me. He said he was bringing in four people, not eight. Who does he think is gonna attack him here?”

“He paid them all on his own dime, so why not?” Armani looks back, as another man joins them. “Leo, the cabins for you and your son should be that way.”

“Thank you,” the newcomer says, stretching. Unlike the man in the suit, he wears a casual polo shirt and long khaki pants. His hair is graying, and his face naturally tanned but tired. “This is…a lot less gloomy than I expected.”

At his side is a boy my age with yellow hair and bright green eyes, looking like he dressed for a beach party but caught the wrong boat. He’s carrying a suitcase over his shoulder, oddly enough. He holds his phone in the air, grinning widely at it, and I realize he’s taking a picture of himself.

“Dad, you didn’t tell me this was literally in the middle of nowhere,” he said, finally lowering it to blink at us.

“You said you wanted to take a break from home, Chase, so this is that. I told you this wasn’t going to be a five-star resort.”

The boy turns to look at me and nearly trips. His suitcase falls, and I reach out without thinking—and then grunt when the weight nearly sends me to the ground. The boy grabs it back with a sheepish grin, one hand holding the suitcase like it weighs nothing while the other helps me balance. He’s stronger than he looks. “Sorry,” he says. He takes another look at me, and his eyes widen. “I just, ah—hi! Who are you?”

“This is Alon,” Hawaiian Shirt says. “Our tour guide.”

“A tour guide?” The boy asks, sounding genuinely confused. He stares at me like I’ve grown another arm. “But I can walk around this island in like an hour.”

“Chase, show some respect,” his father says sternly. “It’s very nice to meet you, Alon. This is my son, Chase. My name is Leo Gries. I’m the co-executive producer for this show. It’s been a lovely visit so far. We stayed in Cebu for a couple of nights before coming here to Kisapmata, and I was so very charmed by the people there. I hope we’re compensating you well for this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s been difficult to find anyone local willing to tell us about this island.”

“The island doesn’t look cursed,” Chase says, still in wonder. “Have you seen those waves? U-uh, Alon, right?”

Gries smiles at me, then shoots an exasperated look at his son. “Chase.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just—I know you told me about a curse, but I thought you guys were just gonna magic it all up in the studio. You mean, for real this is a cursed island?”

“Your son’s right,” says Armani. “We’ll have to put some darker tones in, maybe a blue filter to set the mood. It doesn’t look haunted if it’s always this sunny.” He shoves his suitcase into my hands. “Here. And get some coffee ready for me.”