IT IS QUIET. Way too quiet. Inside, with all the whispered musings, side conversations, and banging pots and pans, it had been difficult to judge, but now that I’m outside, feeling the humidity press against my entire body, the sweat already building on my brow, I can register all the differences.

The eerie silence of a jungle that’s never noiseless, especially this time of night. The total lack of movement, not even a light breeze rustling the palm fronds overhead. The pools of inky black that seem impossibly deep all around me, even as the distant horizon offers up lighter bands of gold, faded orange, and starlight blue.

I step off the porch onto the crushed-coral path, and not a single hermit crab scuttles away. That, more than anything, unnerves me.

The storage building is immediately to my left, a beacon of glaring floodlights. Twenty feet, then I’ll arrive at the long structure bearing three doors—one for the walk-in freezer, one for the walk-in fridge, and one for miscellaneous supplies.

Generally, there are more crabs milling about beneath the lights. But tonight…

I take another fortifying breath, the tray growing heavy on my shoulder. Twenty feet. Anyone can walk twenty feet. I wonder if this is how Keahi contemplated her final march to the execution chamber, dead woman walking. Or if she always knew she’d find a way out.

I take the first step, find my bearings, and go for it. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…

Then I’m there, standing beneath the glare of twin floodlights. I spy the shoulder-high shelf that will be my final target before turning to face the vast darkness before me.

Being lit up like a Christmas tree makes everything worse. I’m the one exposed and vulnerable. Dead woman standing. Whereas they have the jungle on their side.

I clear my throat, get to it.

“We… um… we brought you dinner. Think of it as a peace offering. We don’t want there to be any more violence. Whatever you want, just tell us. There are a lot of people here who deserve to make it home safely.”

I’m not sure what else to say. This piece I hadn’t thought through. I fumble about, then add belatedly: “Keahi, your sister sends her regards. She wants you to know she’s happy.” Which I’m pretty sure is a waste of breath, as the two of them are in this together. Which then drives me to open my mouth and continue brashly.

“And I want you to know, you’re a fucking bitch. There was no reason to drag me into this. No reason to beat your lawyer half to death or take an entire island hostage. You want to stop feeling so empty inside, load up on carbs like the rest of us!”

Then, to prove my point, I hoist the tray up on the shelf, pull down the plate of spaghetti long enough to furiously twirl a fork in the middle of the red target, then shovel a load of noodles in my mouth. Chew, chew, swallow. Now I’m outta here.

“Look, Ma, no poison!” I declare, holding out the pasta to demonstrate its edibleness.

For the first time, I hear a sound. The low chuckle of laughter coming from somewhere in front of me. The direction of the bathhouse.

A light snaps on, nearly blinding me. I have to turn my head to the side, as my entire body tenses, prepares to run.

But I still don’t see anyone. Not the silhouette of Keahi or the shadow of her partner.

Except peering more closely, I do make out a form, the top of someone slumped down on the back porch of the structure.

Despite myself, I take a step forward, trying to understand. First Officer Brent, already eliminated from the picture? Or bodyguard Jason, grievously injured and needing help?

The night, still so damn silent. Not a single rustling tree, breaking branch.

She’s here. I can feel her. A predator tucked in the bushes, gleefully watching her prey. And yet I take another step out away from the protection of the storage shed and Charlie’s line of sight.

“Frankie!” he barks at me.

But I need to know what I’m seeing. The figure isn’t moving. I can just make out his head above the railing. It’s going to be Jason, I’m certain of it. Keahi wants me to find him. Wants to make a show of what she’s done, like a cat, proudly showing off her latest kill.

It doesn’t prepare me.

Nothing could prepare me.

I get just close enough. And then.

I open my mouth, but no scream comes out. The horror is beyond words. It is everything the jungle had been warning me about.

The plate of spaghetti drops from my nerveless fingers. I stay rooted in place. Staring, staring, staring. I need to look away. I can’t look away.

More laughter floats around me.