The voice returned at dawn.
Not loud.
Not urgent.
Patient.
"Jonah…"
He opened his eyes to fog crawling across the sand like something alive. The others were still asleep—or pretending to be. No one had the courage to admit rest anymore.
The voice came again.
Closer.
Jonah stood before he could stop himself.
Rule two burned in his mind.
Do not follow voices that know your name.
"I'm not following," he whispered to the empty shore. "I'm just… listening."
The forest parted.
Not violently.
Respectfully.
A narrow clearing revealed itself, bathed in pale gray light. Jonah took a step—then froze.
The ground beneath his feet changed.
No longer sand.
Concrete.
Cracked. Familiar.
His breath caught.
He was standing in a hospital corridor.
Peeling white paint. Flickering lights. The smell of antiseptic and regret. Jonah staggered back, heart pounding.
"This isn't real," he muttered.
The island did not answer.
The corridor stretched on endlessly, doors lining both sides. One door at the far end stood open.
Light spilled from it.
Jonah knew that door.
His legs carried him forward against his will.
Inside the room, a woman lay on a narrow bed. Thin. Pale. Tubes everywhere. Machines hummed softly, indifferent.
His sister.
Amara.
"No…" Jonah whispered.
She turned her head and smiled weakly. "You came late," she said.
Guilt crushed his chest.
"I was working," Jonah said quickly. "I was trying to—"
"To escape," she finished for him.
The machines flatlined.
The sound screamed through him.
The room darkened.
The island spoke—not with her voice this time, but with something deeper. Older.
You chose the sea over blood.
Jonah dropped to his knees.
He remembered the call.
The night she begged him to come home.
The money he chose instead.
"I didn't know she'd die that night," he said, tears burning his eyes.
You knew she was alone.
The walls bled shadows. The hospital dissolved, melting back into trees and fog.
Jonah was on the island again.
Alone.
The voice softened—almost kind.
This is why you were chosen.
Jonah clenched his fists, shaking. "Is this my punishment?"
A pause.
No.
The fog thickened.
This is your test.
From deeper in the forest, something massive shifted—awakening, aware.
And Jonah understood with horrifying clarity:
The island did not bring people here to destroy them.
It brought them to decide who deserved to leave.