Ethan counted fast.
Eleven survivors on the beach.
Seven men. Four women.
Two men hovered around a rich middle-aged guy like bodyguards pretending to be friends. A married couple stood off to one side. A man in a black suit watched everyone without speaking. Three heavily dressed women clung together, faces pale and angry.
And every single one of them looked disgusted by what Ethan had just done—searching bodies for supplies.
Lena saw them too. Her expression shifted from relief to suspicion in seconds.
"Captain Mercer!" she shouted. "Why didn't anyone warn us before the storm hit?"
The captain's face tightened. "I didn't create the storm. We tried to notify passengers, but communications failed. I'm deeply sorry for your loss."
Clean answer. Too clean.
A lie wrapped in manners.
"What matters now," the rich man beside Mercer said smoothly, "is survival. We should focus on staying alive and waiting for rescue—not blaming each other."
His two followers immediately echoed him.
"Exactly. More people means better odds."
"Our boss is willing to let you join us."
Ethan almost laughed.
Join them?
No. They wanted labor. Someone to hunt, carry, and take risks while they stayed clean.
Not happening.
"Appreciate it," Ethan said flatly. "But no. You go your way, we go ours."
Lena glanced at him, surprised. She hesitated—then nodded.
The rich man's smile thinned. "Think carefully. This island isn't kind to idealists."
Ethan looked him straight in the eyes. "Good thing I'm not one."
He turned away and started sorting supplies again.
Lena crouched beside him. "You really think they're dangerous?"
"They're already calculating," Ethan said quietly. "People like that don't share. They manage."
Lena went silent.
A moment later she asked, "Then what do we do?"
Ethan scanned the coastline and pointed inland. "First: water and fire. Without those, we don't make it through one night."
He picked up a metal bottle, a lighter from someone's soaked jacket, and a torn backpack.
Then he looked back at the group one last time.
Captain Mercer was talking.
The rich man was smiling.
The others were listening because they were scared.
A team had formed.
Just not Ethan's.
Lena stepped beside him.
"Okay," she said. "Different roads."
Ethan nodded. "Stay close."
The two of them walked away from the crowd, toward the darker end of the beach where driftwood piled high and the jungle started breathing.