The island had never felt so quiet.

Two days had passed since the boat incident, and the villa seemed to hold its breath. The staff moved like ghosts—silent, careful, eyes downcast, avoiding any glance that might betray what they had witnessed. Reynolds was gone, locked away in some unknown corner of the property where I wasn’t allowed to ask questions. Even the ocean sounded muted and distant, as if nature itself had lowered its voice in deference to the shift that had taken place. The usual sounds of island life—the distant calls of birds, the rustle of palm fronds, the gentle lap of waves—felt subdued, almost reverent.

I spent most...