Up close, he looks almost like a puppy himself. The same earnest eyes, his obliviousness to his own appeal. “I can’t,” I say, not sure why I sound so regretful. “Need to check on my dad first. And I’m supposed to have dinner with the crew.”

“Ah.” He steps back. He’s actually blushing. “Right. You’re right. I’m gonna… go. I don’t know why I keep putting my foot in my mouth, but—I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“What? You’re not both—”

But Chase’s already sprinting back to the cabins, leaving me alone on the beach. Beside me, Askal sits and nudges at my hand, then lets out an exasperated bark.

***

“So nice of you to join us,” Armani greets me with a smile, as I step into the mess hall. Most of the crew remain outside; lanterns hanging from nearby trees serve as their main source of light now that night has fallen. Filming is done for the day, and most of the crew linger at their tables with plates of food, chatting and swapping stories. A majority of the crew have left the island after the sinkhole incident, to my relief. Only a dozen and a half are left behind.

It’s different when you’re an executive. The others eat their meals outdoors with a hearty selection of sandwiches, fries, and cold drinks. But inside, the VIPs feast. Their menu has champagne and hors d’oeuvres—bite-sized sandwiches that are somehow more elaborate than the subs the crew receives, cold soup served from a turret, and fresh unagi and uni sashimi flown to the island from the seas of Japan.

I have to leave Askal outside with the rest of the crew, much to their delight. I can hear them cooing and fussing over him when I step inside. Askal has had a quiet life with me and ’Tay, and it feels good to see people give him the attention he deserves.

There is no one else here to impress, but Armani wears cufflinks and a new suit—a ridiculous contrast to Reuben Hemslock, dressed casually in a loose shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark jeans. His bodyguards prowl the room, a few glancing offhandedly out the window, in case someone might think to ambush the group. They carry their guns like they’re patrolling a military zone.

I would have preferred to remain outside, but Armani insists. “You’ll learn how we do things around here soon enough,” he tells me. “And as our local expert, it’ll be good for you to be here, because we’re planning the rest of the season tonight. We’ve got a pretty good idea of the lore, but we’ll tap you for other details we need more of.” He eyes my clothes. “You want me to lend you something nice to wear while you’re here? That whole authentic look’s great for when you’re on camera, though.”

His interpretation of authentic is not the same as mine, but I turn down his offer and keep my words polite.