The group stood over an old fishing map laid out on the hood of Kaito's busted-up truck, the compass spinning wildly as Nate slowly hovered it over the parchment.
"There," Ryuji said, pointing at a faded 'X' marked near an old shipwreck, long forgotten on the edge of the island.
"That's suicide," Ava said, crossing her arms. "That area's restricted. Guarded."
Nate didn't look away. "Since when did we care about that?"
Kaito grinned. "Now you're speaking my language."
Later that night, they snuck out—cutting through the trees, crawling under fences, slipping past drunk security guards passed out by the docks. The air smelled like salt and trouble.
When they finally reached the wreck, something felt off. The compass spun wildly, then suddenly stopped—dead still—pointing at the heart of the broken hull.
Ava knelt down, brushing sand and debris aside. Beneath it was a symbol, carved deep into the wood. A serpent coiled around a sword.
"What the hell is this?" she muttered.
Nate stepped back, unease crawling into his gut. "This… this isn't just some old wreck."
That night, none of them slept.