You open your eyes much later to the smell of salt and the sharp ache of your body. You are laid on your stomach, half submerged in water. Gentle waves pull at you, then recede, leaving a gritty paste of sand and saltwater in your mouth.

The world comes back in pieces. The roar of the ocean. The groan of twisted metal somewhere behind you. The sharp, coppery tang of blood mixing with the brine.

You push yourself up, arms shaking. Your clothes are soaked and heavy. Before you, a white sand beach stretches to a dense, impossibly dark wall of tropical forest. Behind you, the turquoise water laps at the shattered remains of a plane's wing, the UA High logo barely visible beneath a slick of oil.

A body floats face-down in the shallows a dozen meters away, uniformed arms outstretched. It doesn't move.