Chapter 16: Cabin 1, Night 2
The air in Cabin 1 hung thick and stale, smelling of damp swim trunks, cheap sunscreen, and the sharp tang of Joaquin’s barely suppressed fury. The flimsy bamboo door had barely clicked shut behind them before his frustration erupted.
"¡Hijo de puta!" Joaquin slammed his fist against the nearest bunk frame, the metal ringing harshly. He kicked his discarded sandals across the narrow floor, sending them skittering under the bed occupied by Emilia. "That little bruja! Alya! Putting me with the boy? That... that insect Jim! And Carmen..." He spat the name, pacing the cramped space like a caged tiger, his muscular frame seeming to fill the small cabin. "Ten points! I had ten points! She was practically mine! And now? Stuck listening to Thomas simper and Briv whine about his precious Alya!" His dark green eyes flashed. "And that pendejo Revan! Smirking like he won the lottery!"
Raze leaned against the far wall, peeling off his sweat-stained t-shirt with deliberate slowness. His pale skin glistened, crisscrossed with faint scratches from the pit. A faint, amused smirk played on his lips as he watched Joaquin unravel. "Tough break, mate," he drawled, his voice a low rumble. "Guess your 'macho charm' didn't quite seal the deal before the swap." He tossed the shirt onto his bunk. "Should've moved faster. Or been more convincing."
Joaquin whirled on him. "Shut your mouth, Raze! You think you're so clever? Your cousin got lucky. That pit was collapsing anyway. And now he gets to play house with Briv's girl? Don't pretend you're not pissed about that." He jabbed a finger towards Raze. "You wanted Alya for yourself. Admit it."
Raze's smirk didn't waver, but his pale eyes hardened slightly. He shrugged one shoulder, a dismissive ripple of muscle. "Plenty of fish, Joaquin. Revan can have his little victory. For now." He stretched, the movement languid, predatory. "Makes things more interesting, watching him poke the skinny kid. Briv’s about two seconds from snapping. And Alya... well, she looks like a scared rabbit left in a cage with foxes." His gaze drifted towards the cabin door, as if he could see through to Cabin 4. "Thomas isn't exactly harmless, and that Spaniard you brought in has rage-fuck written all over him. Could be messy."
Diletta, perched gracefully on the edge of her neatly made bunk, watched the exchange with the calm detachment of a seasoned TV host observing unruly guests. She uncapped a bottle of expensive-looking moisturizer, massaging it into her tanned arms. The scent of jasmine briefly cut through the cabin's funk. "Revan made a calculated move separating Briv and Alya," she observed, her Spanish accent softening the edges of her words. "Briv's jealousy is a live wire. Putting him with Nicola, who clearly enjoys winding him up, and Dariana, who despises weakness? Near Revan, who actively provokes him?" She shook her head, a strand of long blonde hair escaping her loose ponytail. "That is not a stable combination. Someone will get hurt."
"Good," Joaquin muttered, collapsing onto his own bunk, the frame groaning under his weight. He ran a hand through his dark hair. "Serves the little prick right. Maybe it’ll toughen him up. Or break him. Either way, less competition."
Emilia, sitting cross-legged on her bunk, had been unusually quiet, observing each speaker with intense dark eyes. She had her journal open on her lap, but her pen was still. "It’s about more than just Briv," she said softly, her voice cutting through the tension. "Alya put Joaquin with Jim to protect Carmen. That’s loyalty. Or fear." She tilted her head, her gaze sharpening as it landed on Joaquin. "But fear of you, Joaquin... that’s a powerful motivator. It paints a target. Carmen will cling to Alya and Nicola now. You made yourself the threat."
Joaquin glared at her. "I am what I am, chica. Women like confidence."
"Some do," Emilia conceded with a serene smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Others prefer not to feel like prey." She tapped her pen lightly against the journal. "And Revan... he targeted Briv out of pure malice. Because he could. Because it hurts Alya. It weakens them both. That’s not strategy, that’s sadism. He enjoys the chaos." She looked meaningfully at Raze. "Family trait?"
Raze's lazy amusement vanished. He pushed off the wall, taking a step towards Emilia’s bunk. His voice dropped, losing its drawl, becoming cold and precise. "Careful, Emilia. Psych 101 observations get old fast. My cousin plays his game. I play mine. Don’t confuse us." He leaned down slightly, his pale eyes locking onto hers. "You think you see all the angles? You think jotting down everyone's little insecurities makes you safe? It just makes you predictable."
A flicker of something – calculation, perhaps a hint of wariness – crossed Emilia’s face, but her smile remained fixed. "Predictability can be a useful tool, Raze. People underestimate the quiet ones."
Diletta sighed, breaking the sudden standoff. She screwed the cap back on her moisturizer. "Enough. The atmosphere in here is thick enough to choke on." She stood up, smoothing her shorts. "We just dug a hole in the sand for hours. We smell. We’re exhausted. And we’re stuck together." She shot Joaquin a pointed look. "Some of us more explosively than others. Save the testosterone contests for the challenges."
Joaquin scowled but stayed slumped on his bunk, muttering in Spanish under his breath. Raze straightened, his cold stare lingering on Emilia for a beat longer before he turned away, picking up a towel. "Shower," he announced, heading for the small, curtained-off cubicle at the back of the cabin. He paused at the curtain, glancing back at Joaquin. "Try not to break the furniture before I get back, eh, amigo? Or better yet," he added, a cruel edge returning to his voice, "go find Jim. Maybe he can show you his... impressive collection of tentacle hentai. Might take your mind off Carmen." He vanished behind the curtain, the sound of the water starting moments later.
Joaquin made a sound like a growl. Diletta shook her head, a rare flash of irritation crossing her perfectly composed features. "Charming," she murmured.
Emilia simply picked up her pen and began writing in her journal, the scratch of the nib loud in the sudden quiet broken only by the splashing water and Joaquin's heavy breathing. The tension hadn't dissolved; it had merely shifted, settling into the humid air like a physical weight. Resentment pulsed from Joaquin, coiled menace radiated from behind the shower curtain, cool observation emanated from Diletta, and focused calculation hummed silently from Emilia.
The first night in their newly assigned prison was just beginning, and Cabin 1 felt less like a shelter and more like a pressure cooker set to explode. Emilia looked up, her dark eyes scanning the room, missing nothing. She wrote down three words with deliberate slowness:
Joaquin. Raze. Powder keg.The cabin smelled of salt, sweat, and something faintly floral—Diletta’s perfume, probably, something expensive that clung to the humid air like a whispered secret. Raze stretched out on the lower bunk, one arm behind his head, the other tapping an impatient rhythm against his thigh. His pale skin glistened under the dim overhead bulb, still damp from the outdoor showers.
Joaquin slammed the door hard enough to rattle the thin walls. "*Mierda*," he muttered, stripping off his sand-crusted shirt with a violent yank. The fabric hit the floor like a challenge. "That little *puta* thinks she can humiliate me?" His green eyes burned, fixed on some invisible point in the middle distance, replaying Alya’s decision to rip him from this cabin and dump him with the losers.
Diletta, perched on the edge of her neatly made bed, arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Oh, *cariño*, don’t tell me you’re actually offended." Her voice was syrup over steel. "You were the one bragging about ‘collecting points’ with Carmen like she was a trophy." She uncrossed her legs slowly, the movement deliberate. "You made yourself a target."
Joaquin’s jaw tightened. He opened his mouth—
"*Enough*." Raze’s voice cut through, lazy but edged. He didn’t sit up, didn’t even look at them. Just kept staring at the bunk above him, where Emilia had been quietly observing since they’d dragged themselves back from the pit. "We lost. Move the fuck on."
A beat of silence. Then Emilia shifted, the bunk creaking under her slight weight. She leaned over the edge, her dark eyes scanning Joaquin’s stormy expression, Diletta’s poised amusement, Raze’s deliberate indifference. "Interesting," she murmured, more to herself than to them.
Joaquin scoffed. "What’s *interesting*, *princesa*? You got something to say?"
Emilia smiled—soft, harmless. The kind of smile that made people underestimate her. "Just noting how quickly alliances crack under pressure." She tilted her head. "You were all so united against the other cabins. Now?" A delicate shrug. "Joaquin’s pissed. Diletta’s enjoying it. Raze doesn’t care. And me?" She let the question hang, dangling like a hook.
Raze finally turned his head, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. "You’re playing," he said flatly.
Another smile. "Aren’t we all?"
Diletta laughed, low and throaty. "God, I *like* you." She stretched, catlike, before standing. "But let’s not pretend any of us are here to hold hands and sing campfire songs." She grabbed a towel from her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. "I’m hitting the showers. Try not to kill each other while I’m gone."
The door clicked shut behind her.
Joaquin exhaled through his nose, his anger simmering into something colder, more calculated. He glanced at Raze. "You really just gonna lie there?"
Raze’s lips twitched. "Yep."
"You’re not even—"
"*Nope*."
Joaquin muttered another curse, then grabbed his own towel and stalked out, leaving the cabin door swinging in his wake.
Silence settled, thick and charged. Emilia swung her legs over the edge of the bunk, dropping lightly to the floor. She padded toward the small mirror nailed to the wall, studying her reflection—or maybe studying Raze’s behind her, his stillness, the way he watched without seeming to.
"You’re not as detached as you pretend," she said finally.
Raze’s slow blink was the only acknowledgment. Then: "And you’re not as sweet."
She met his eyes in the mirror. Held them. "Good."
Outside, the ocean roared, relentless. Somewhere, a camera crew adjusted their angles, waiting for the next explosion.