Mara woke screaming.
Not the kind of scream born from fear—but from recognition.
Jonah caught her shoulders before she bolted upright. "Mara. Look at me. You're here."
Her eyes locked onto his.
Too sharp.
Too awake.
"It's still listening," she whispered.
The forest rustled softly.
Satisfied.
Jonah let go slowly. "Tell us what you saw."
The others gathered, keeping their distance like Mara might break if touched too hard.
She swallowed. "It didn't show me monsters. It showed me… decisions."
Silence.
"My sister drowned when we were kids," Mara continued. "Everyone thinks it was an accident. Slippery rocks. Fast water."
Her hands trembled.
"I could've saved her. I didn't."
A low sound moved through the trees—approval, not anger.
"The island didn't punish me for it," Mara said. "It asked me why."
Jonah felt his chest tighten.
"And?" he asked.
"I told it the truth," she said. "I was tired. I wanted quiet. I wanted her voice to stop."
Someone gasped.
The fog thinned slightly, as if leaning closer.
Mara's eyes glistened. "The island didn't judge me for that. It judged me for pretending I was innocent."
The ground beneath them pulsed once.
Then stopped.
"It told me most people don't fail because they're evil," she went on. "They fail because they want forgiveness without ownership."
Jonah felt it then.
The island wasn't testing actions.
It was testing honesty without excuses.
"What did it take from you?" Jonah asked quietly.
Mara looked at him.
And for the first time, she hesitated.
"It took my certainty," she said. "I don't get to believe I'm a good person anymore."
The forest shifted.
Closer.
"But it gave me something," she added.
The men leaned in despite themselves.
"Understanding," Mara said. "This place isn't a prison. It's a filter."
Jonah's pulse roared in his ears.
"A filter for what?" he asked.
"For people who would make the same choices again," Mara replied. "If released."
The words settled like a death sentence.
"That's why some don't leave," she said. "Not because they fail… but because the world would bleed if they returned unchanged."
The island stirred.
Deep.
Massive.
Jonah felt it now—undeniable.
The weight of attention.
"You feel it too, don't you?" Mara asked him softly.
Jonah nodded.
The island wasn't watching anymore.
It was waiting.
Waiting for Jonah to understand why he, above all others, had been chosen to stand at the center of its judgment..