The door creaked open, and the old lady came back in, her straw hat and raincoat dripping from the rain. She took her time hanging them up neatly before heading back to the table and sitting down.

  “Oh, right—the ticket,” I suddenly remembered. I reached into my pocket, pulled it out, and handed it to her. “Here you go, ma’am.”

  She took it, looked it over for a moment, then muttered to herself, “Oh, it’s from her.”

  I didn’t really understand what she meant, but I noticed Cassandra and Gideon staring at me more intently. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I felt like there was something unspoken in the air.

  That’s when it hit me—I had no clue where I was actually headed. I didn’t even know the name of the island. It felt a little silly, but I figured now was as good a time as any to ask.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” I said, hesitating for a second. “I know it’s a strange question since I’m already on the boat, but… What’s the name of the island we’re going to?”

  The old lady’s eyes lit up, and a small smile appeared on her face. “Ah, I see. She followed the rules. For that, I’ll honor this ticket. You can call me Granny Chan.”

  Her words only stirred up more questions. Followed the rules? Was she talking about my aunt? What rules? And what did she mean by honoring the ticket? Wasn’t it valid in the first place?

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than I understood. Among all my questions, the one about my aunt lingered the most.

  “Granny Chan,” I asked cautiously, leaning forward, “do you know her? My aunt? Are you close with her?”

  “One question at a time, dear. And how should I address you?” the old lady responded calmly, her tone gentle but firm.

  “Oh, right. Sorry about that. My name is Aria Greenfield. You can just call me Aria, Grandma,” I replied, feeling a little embarrassed. It was rude not to have introduced myself sooner after she had shared her name.

  “Aria,” she repeated, her lips curling into a warm smile. “What a beautiful, strong name. Did you know it carries many meanings? In Persian, it means noble. In Italian, it means song. In Albanian, it stands for high value, and in Greek, it means lioness.”

  I blinked, surprised. I had never known the meaning behind my name. I’d never even thought to ask my parents why they chose it for me. Her words sparked a new curiosity within me. Now I can’t help but wonder about Kyle’s name too.

  The old lady continued, “Bill was close with your aunt. I only knew her briefly, but she left quite an impression. She helped us in a way we’ll never forget.”

  I wonder what kind of help my aunt had given them. It sounded significant, yet Granny Chan wouldn’t elaborate any further.

  Casandra and Gideon remained silent, quietly listening to our conversation. They focused on eating their sandwiches and sipping their tea, but their earlier reactions hadn’t gone unnoticed. They must know something about the island that I don’t, I thought, my curiosity deepening.

  “The island, dear, goes by many names,” the old lady began, pausing to sip her tea before continuing. “But among them, it’s most commonly known as Pinocchio Island. Speaking of your aunt, Aria, I must admit—I never expected her to send one of her family members there. It’s quite a bold decision. I just hope she knows what she’s doing.”

  Her words only deepened my confusion. Pinocchio Island? What kind of place is this? And what did she mean about my aunt’s decision? I felt the weight of my unanswered questions piling up.

  I opened my mouth to press her further—about the island’s name, whether they knew where my aunt might be, and how quickly I could find her so I could ensure her safety and return home—but my thoughts were cut short.

  The cabin door creaked open, drawing everyone’s attention.

  A man in his late 30s walked in, dressed casually in a black raincoat. He shrugged it off and hung it up on the same rack as Granny Chan’s, revealing a plain white T-shirt and denim shorts. He wore simple slippers, and silver-rimmed glasses rested on his slightly chubby face. He had a black plastic bag in one hand.

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  He scanned the room like he was familiar with it. Cassandra and Gideon looked up for a moment, their expressions unreadable, before going back to their tea and sandwiches, uninterested.

  "Hello, Chan. I’m back," the man said, his voice dripping with arrogance.

  "Let me see your pass, Jim," Granny Chan replied sharply, her voice laced with irritation. It was clear these two didn’t get along.

  Granny Chan stood up slowly, her movements deliberate, and walked toward him. Curious about the tension between them, I stood up too, trailing a few steps behind her, hoping to figure out what was going on.

  "Oh, come on, Chan," Jim said with a smirk. "Do we really need to do this every time? You know my face by now." He paused, lowering his voice to a suggestive tone. "We’re old buddies, after all."

  "No, we are not," Granny Chan shot back, coldly. "And I know exactly what you are—and what you’ve done to earn a trip to the city. How many this time? If it were up to me, you wouldn’t even be allowed on board. If I had a gun, I’d shoot you myself."

  Jim casually rested his hand on his right wrist, still grinning smugly. "Ouch, Chan. That hurts," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But you know that's not how it works. You know the rules just as well as I do, and it’s a good thing I know my rights, huh? Not everyone’s as lucky as you and Bill. And are you really going to bring that up in front of these visitors?"

  Visitors, I noted, catching on to his word choice. So, he’s a local there. While I don’t understand most of their conversations and it went over my head, at least I’d managed to glean that small detail. I know it isn’t much, but it’s something. With an exasperated sigh, Granny Chan reached for his wrist. As she inspected it, my eyes followed. On his right wrist was a tattoo—a peculiar design of an inverted italicized "A" with a small crescent moon etched along one end.

  So that’s his pass? That’s cool and convenient, I mused, though it stirred more questions than answers. Are locals required to have this kind of tattoo? Is it some sort of mandatory mark, or just a personal choice?

  "Now, can I go in?" Jim asked, raising an eyebrow. Without waiting for an answer, he brushed past us and plopped down next to Casandra. She barely looked at him, just sipping her tea like nothing was happening, one hand on the cup, the other resting on the table.

  "Oh~ what’s a pretty lady like you doing here?" Jim said, his voice smooth as he reached for her hand. He casually set his black plastic bag next to my lunchbox, ignoring any personal space.

  Gideon immediately reacted, his voice calm but firm, carrying an unmistakable authority. “Sir, please let go of her hand.”

  "Huh? Is he your husband, miss?" Jim smirked, turning his attention to Gideon, his tone clearly mocking.

  I couldn’t help but notice a new side to Gideon. He’d been so calm and easygoing earlier, but now there was a sharp protective edge to him. I’d thought of him as warm and laid-back, but this moment made me realize just how quiet and reserved he actually was—until Jim showed up. Thinking back, it had been Casandra who took the lead in starting conversations with me, while Gideon remained quietly observant.

  Casandra, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by Jim’s antics. Her calm smile didn’t waver as she replied smoothly, “No, he’s not. But you should still listen to him, mister.”

  Jim chuckled, undeterred. “Oh, then what is he? Your boyfriend? Brother?” His tone was mocking, dripping with a careless disregard for the tension in the room.

  Gideon’s jaw tightened, and a flicker of impatience crossed his face. I bet, he wasn’t the type to lose his composure easily, but it was clear Jim was testing his limits. Whatever calm restraint Gideon had left seemed to be slipping, and I had a feeling things were about to escalate.

  “Jim, don’t stir up trouble,” Granny Chan warned from the side, her tone sharp and commanding.

  But Jim dismissed her with a wave of his hand, his tone dismissive and rude. “Stay out of this, old lady! This has nothing to do with you. What’s wrong with a little fun, huh? Just trying to get to know her better.”

  Casandra’s smile didn’t falter, but something in her eyes shifted. The warmth drained away, replaced by a glint of something sharper—something dangerous. “A little fun, you say?” she murmured, her voice calm, almost too calm, as she placed her teacup down on the table with deliberate care.

  Then it happened. Before anyone could react, Casandra moved with the speed of a striking snake. In a blur, she had Jim’s head pinned firmly to the table, her grip ironclad. The shift in her demeanor was chilling. Her pleasant smile had vanished, replaced by a cold, predatory focus that sent a shiver down my spine.

  The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. Jim winced and let out a strangled yelp of pain, but Casandra didn’t flinch. It was as if a switch had flipped, revealing a side of her I hadn’t imagined could exist.

  Ow! Fuck! Let me go!” Jim yelped, his voice pitching higher with each word as he squirmed under Casandra’s unyielding grip.

  Casandra’s composure was unnerving, her strength even more so. She didn’t waver, her tone calm yet brimming with icy authority. “You should have kept your hands to yourself, sir. Now, will you promise to keep your distance?”

  “Fuck you!” Jim spat, his defiance loud but hollow.

  Casandra’s response was swift and unforgiving. She pressed down harder, forcing a sharp yelp from him. The storm outside punctuated the moment with a low growl of thunder. Jim’s bravado cracked, his eyes welling with tears as he finally conceded, his voice desperate. “Yes! Yes! I promise!”

  With a measured grace, Casandra let him go, stepping back and raising her hands as if to show she meant no further harm.

  Jim staggered to his feet, his face flushed with humiliation. “Fuck!” he snarled, lurching forward to grab at Casandra’s hair.

  But she was faster. With a quick, precise motion, she delivered a hard, straight punch to his face. The sickening crunch that followed left no doubt about its force. Jim’s body crumpled to the floor like a rag doll, his nose grotesquely bent and bleeding profusely.

  The room fell into stunned silence. All eyes were on Casandra, who calmly retrieved her cup and resumed her tea, face relaxed as if nothing had happened.

  Gideon’s reaction caught my attention. He wasn’t shocked—in fact, he seemed... satisfied. A faint smile played on his lips, or at least I thought I saw one. Was I imagining it?