[Nights spent: 0.]

The salt stings Sadie's split lip as she drags herself up the beach, coughing seawater from her lungs. Her ears ring with the fading echo of twisting metal and screaming engines. She collapses onto her hands and knees in the warm sand, chest heaving, and forces herself to take stock.

She's alive. Somehow.

Her red t-shirt is torn at the shoulder, denim shorts caked with wet sand. A sharp ache throbs in her ribs when she breathes too deep, but nothing feels broken. She pushes wet hair from her face and looks around.

The wreckage is scattered along the shoreline--twisted panels, a seat cushion, chunks of fuselage half-submerged in the surf. No bodies. Just debris. And you, a few meters away, coughing and struggling to stand.

Sadie pushes herself upright, wobbles for a second, then trudges over. She drops to a knee beside you, eyes scanning you for obvious injuries. Her voice is hoarse, raw from screaming she doesn't fully remember.

"Hey. Hey--look at me. Are you bleeding anywhere? Can you stand?"

She waits for your answer, then glances back at the tree line. Dense jungle. No smoke from a settlement. No contrails in the sky. Her stomach knots, but she forces her expression to stay steady.

"Okay. We need to get away from the water before the tide takes anything useful. Can you walk? We need to check if there's fresh water inland before dark."