Back at camp, we inventoried our supplies, the reality of our situation sinking in. We had enough food and water for a few more days, but the clock was ticking. Laura suggested we try to repair the boat, though neither of us was particularly skilled at such tasks.
‘It’s better than doing nothing,’ she said, her determination unwavering.
We spent the afternoon assessing the damage, making a list of what we needed for makeshift repairs. The hull was cracked, and the engine had taken on water, but with some ingenuity, we might be able to patch it up enough to get us back to the mainland.
‘We’ll have to be careful,’ I said, noting the challenges ahead.
‘We’ve been through worse,’ Laura replied with a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes.
As we worked, my mind kept drifting back to the letter. Who had sent it, and why? Was it a warning or a trap? The questions lingered, unanswered.
‘What if we’re not supposed to leave?’ I blurted out, the thought escaping before I could stop it.
Laura paused, looking up from her task. ‘What do you mean?’
‘What if whoever sent that letter wanted us here for a reason?’
‘Then we’ll find out why,’ she said, her resolve unshaken.
Despite the challenges, Laura’s presence was a comfort, her strength a beacon in the uncertainty. We worked late into the evening, the sound of the waves a constant reminder of our predicament.
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