PROLOGUE

Lost at sea.

Well, not exactly lost. Cheryl could see the Texan shore from where she stumbled on the slick, metal platform. But the winking lights along the shore, and from the lighthouses, were fading things, hidden by the weather’s rising temper.

But she was lost.

The storm howled around Cheryl, plastering her reddish hair, as she planted her feet on the slick metal grating of the oil derrick. Saltwater spray whipped across her face, stinging her eyes. She blinked rapidly, scanning the labyrinthine tangle of pipes and gears that loomed like skeletons in the dim light. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, the canvas sodden from the deluge.

"Jake!" she shouted into the wind, her voice barely cutting through the roar of thunder. No answer came back but the mournful cry of the storm.

She’d come on the small boat to the platform as a surprise visit to her boyfriend.

The two of them had spent the evening together. He was supposed to check some gauges, and then he was meant to return.

But he hadn’t.

She’d gone wandering, and now this…

She hadn’t realized just how large the old, rusted oil derrick was. She hadn’t known anything this apparently old was still even in use.

She moved forward, her rubber-soled shoes slipping on the treacherous surface. Each step was a gamble against the elements. The rain battered her, relentless, soaking through her lightweight jacket, plastering her hair to her scalp. She tasted the sea on her lips, bitter and cold.

"Jake?" Her call was weaker now, uncertain. His name vanished, swallowed by the storm.

Cheryl squinted, trying to recall the layout he'd described during those late-night calls. The bathroom should be near the living quarters - a small comfort station amidst the stark industrial landscape. Her need pressed at her, urgent against the chill that clung to her bones.

He was supposed to be on the southern side of the rig… no… north. Stern? No, that was just boats.

Shit. She should’ve insisted they meet on shore at that nice little sushi joint she’d found.

She stumbled, her hand shooting out to grip a cold, wet railing. Her breath came short, catching in her throat with the suddenness of the movement. Fear knotted in her stomach, uninvited, unwelcome.

"Damn it," she muttered, righting herself. The structure groaned under the assault of the gale, a cacophony that resonated with her rising panic. Where was he?

"Jake! Please!" This time, her plea was met with silence—a void that filled the space where his laughter should have been.

Cheryl pressed on, each step driven by the need to find him, to see his face, to confirm he was safe. The unforgiving environment mocked her, a world away from the serenity of her yoga studio. Here, there was no balance, no harmony—just the chaos of nature and machine locked in an eternal struggle.

Her hands found a door, the metal cold and unyielding beneath her touch. She pushed against it, shoulders straining, muscles protesting. It gave way with a reluctant creak, revealing the dim interior. The sharp scent of antiseptic hit her nostrils—a stark contrast to the omnipresent odor of oil and seawater outside.

"Hello?" Her voice echoed off the tiled walls, a hollow sound in the cramped space. She fumbled for a light switch, the small victory of electric light flickering to life a brief respite from the dark.

"Jake, are you here?" she called again, heart sinking as the empty room offered no response. Alone, she faced the mirror above the sink, the reflection of a stranger staring back—hazel eyes wide, skin pale framed by rust-hued hair, a woman out of place.

With a deep breath, she turned away from her own gaze, stepping back into the storm's wrath. She found she no longer needed to go.

Rain battered the platform as Cheryl stepped out into the tempest. She moved cautiously, her hands brushing against cold metal containers slick with moisture. The roar of the wind and the wrathful sea melded into a relentless assault on her senses. Lightning split the sky, casting brief, stark shadows across the derrick's expanse.

"Jake?" Her voice was snatched away by the gale, lost in the cacophony of the storm.

A flash of movement caught her eye—a figure darting between two shipping containers. Dark, indistinct. Her heart lurched. "Who's there?"

No reply. Just the clatter of chains and the groan of strained metal. She took a step forward, her sneakers slipping on the wet surface.

The figure reappeared, closer now. A hand shot up, a flashlight beam lancing through the darkness. White light flooded Cheryl's vision, blinding her. She raised an arm to shield her eyes.

"Stop!" Her command was firm, but her voice trembled.

The figure did not heed. Slow steps echoed on the steel deck, deliberate, measured. Each footfall a declaration of intent.

"Who are you?" she demanded, squinting against the glare. “Jake, this isn’t funny.”

But no. Too tall to be Jake. The foreman? No—he slept off the rig.

Silence was her only answer, punctuated by the steady advance of boots on metal. The light held steady, oppressive, an unwavering sentinel in the chaotic night.

Cheryl's breath caught in her throat. Fear, sharp and cold, clawed at her chest. The flashlight's glare still danced in her vision, a ghost image that obscured the dark expanse of the oil derrick.

"Jake!" she called again, this time her plea swallowed by the howl of the storm.

The platform beneath her felt like a trap, the sea's rage a boundary she could not escape. Her sneakers slapped against the wet metal as she bolted away from the beam of light that had pinned her like an insect to a board.

Footfalls echoed hers. Faster. Hungrier. A chase had begun, and Cheryl was the quarry. Panic surged, propelling her forward even as the wind buffeted her slender frame. She was a yoga instructor, not a sprinter, but terror lent her speed she did not know she possessed.

Her foot hit a slick patch. The rain-sodden deck betrayed her, and she skidded, arms wheeling for balance. Metal clanged beneath her as she fought to stay upright. But gravity won. She fell to her knees, the impact jarring. Oil – the smell hit her nostrils, thick and acrid. It mingled with the brine of the sea, a nauseating cocktail that filled her lungs.

"Help!" The word burst from her lips, a desperate, ragged sound.

She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the sting of scraped skin. Behind her, the steps did not slow. Whoever pursued her was relentless, undeterred by the treacherous conditions.

She stumbled, hitting the ground.

The figure’s flashlight shone on her, like a spotlight.

Cheryl's palms pressed against the cold, wet metal as she heaved herself up from the unforgiving deck. Her breath came fast, each gasp a sharp jab in her lungs. Her heart hammered with such ferocity that it drowned out the storm's howl for a brief, thudding moment. She had to move, had to escape.

She bolted forward, rubber soles slipping on the drenched platform. Every step was a gamble against gravity, every movement a defiance of the slick surface beneath her. The figure behind her—a hulking silhouette against the tempest—gained ground.

Rain lashed at her face, each drop a needle against her skin. She blinked it away, squinting through the deluge. The ocean roared its fury, waves slamming into the oil derrick's legs with thunderous crashes. Salty spray mixed with rain, stinging her eyes, blurring her vision.

Where the hell was Jake?

And then she stumbled over something.

There, on the ground. Something warm. Slick with red. The scent of oil was tinged by a coppery odor.

She looked down, and the flashlight illuminated the corpse at her feet.

Her eyes widened.

She recognized those wide, unseeing eyes. That dark hair and the small scar above his lip from a football tackle gone awry.

"J-jake?"

His neck was slit.

The sight of blood, glistening wet under the harsh light, knifed through her shock. Cheryl’s stomach clenched violently, her heart a hammer against her ribs. The red soaked earth beneath Jake's lifeless form was a chilling testament to the sudden violence that had occurred.

She stared, lips parting in a silent scream. Her fingers twitched towards him, wanting to confirm the reality her mind rebelled against.

"No..." The denial slipped from her trembling lips, barely audible over the thunderous storm. But as the rain washed over her, mixed with her tears, there could be no denying the gruesome reality at her feet.

Panic welled in her chest, sharp and clawing. She turned away from Jake's body, the sight too much to bear. Her gaze darted around the platform, desperate for an escape route.

But there was nowhere to go. The storm had made a prison of the oil derrick.

And then she heard it again—those determined footfalls coming closer.

Cheryl’s heart pounded like a war drum in her chest. With one last look at Jake’s lifeless form, she forced herself to run once more despite knowing she was outmatched on this slick terrain.

The smell of oil became more intense as she moved further away from Jake's body, but she couldn't help but picture those lifeless eyes staring back at her. His face haunted each step she took away from him.

Suddenly, a figure stepped in front of her. He’d circled around.

She ran into him and stumbled to the ground.

The dark, tall figure loomed over her. She pleaded, but the words failed on her lips, and her scream died as she shouted, her voice shaking the air.