The tropical heat hit them the moment the helicopter doors slid open. It wasn't a vacation breeze; it was a wall of humidity that smelled of salt, rot, and bad decisions. The air was thick enough to chew, sticking to their skin like a second, uncomfortable layer of sweat instantly.
"Cut!" Bella shrieked, clutching her wide-brimmed straw hat as the rotor wash whipped her hair into a frenzy. "My hair! The humidity is going to make it frizz! Can we get a fan?"
The cameraman, a rugged guy hanging out the side of the chopper, didn't stop filming. "We're live in 3... 2..."
Aria stepped out onto the white sand of the drop zone. She adjusted her tactical backpack, her boots sinking slightly into the grit. She looked like she was ready to invade a small country.
Bella, in contrast, was wearing a white sundress and strappy sandals. She looked like she was ready for a brunch that was never going to happen.
