Zaharah rolled over and squinted at the clock on her desk. Three am, the witching hour, her favourite. A time for inspiration, her mother used to call it. Or it was, back when the nights were shorter and her dreams longer.

She hadn't gotten a full eight hours since her last surgery. No matter what time she went to bed, five hours later she was awake and alert. At first she blamed the night terrors. Those times when she closed her eyes, and the waters rose over her head. Bits and pieces of metal would drift by, singing in high pitches like tortured souls – a little song called Your Whole World Is Going To Shit And All You Can Do Is Watch. And that was the worst part. The watching. The powerlessness. Having to sit and do nothing while everything was on fire and sinking into oblivion at the same time.

She shook the thoughts from her head and fished her phone from amongst the sheets. A message alert from Pharahdox blinked on her dash, a request for samples of her work. Still no reply from Dwight. She pulled up the app and her conversation with Cammi filled the screen, unplayed audio message at the bottom.

Her finger drifted over the little black triangle and she reached blindly with her free hand for her headset. Other things needed her attention, like the message from Pharahdox, unfinished paintings and assignments.

But Cammi had sent and left her some... intriguing things so far, and she wanted to unlock the secrets hidden behind the black triangle. Rip the bandaid off. She pressed play, and prolonged beep filled her ear, stretching for a few seconds before it hit a wall of silence.

Hello? Hurakan are you there?

Zaharah dropped her phone, and it fell smack on her face, but the pain didn't register.

Dad? Quelle? Anyone? A pause. Jade and I are all right. We washed up near some place called Denden Isle. We're at latitude 23.86 north and longitude 74.58 west. Just... let us know y'all are okay. Another long beep and the audio ended.

The silence buzzed in her ears, and darkness closed in on her, consumed the light from her phone, from the desk clock. It fell on her chest, a heavy weight threatening to crush her. She tossed the sheets aside and swung her legs out of the bed. The cold floor grounded her in reality, chased away the dread clawing at the edges of her mind. She could deny the video, but not that. That was her in the recording, her frantic quavering voice, an octave higher like it always got when she was upset.

But, like the video, she remembered none of it, and it didn't make sense. Jade wasn't with her during the accident. She'd known nothing of a Denden Isle until she woke up on it after the accident. Either this was a carefully doctored collection of sound bites. Or someone in this bitch needed to explain to her what's going on.

Zaharah rubbed her eyes. Nothing could be done about it at this hour. Control the things you can. She responded to Pharahdox's text with a link to her digital gallery and tossed the phone back on the bed.

The watercolour piece she'd started still sat on her desk, long dried and ready to be finished. She flipped on the desk lamp, set up her palette and brushes and fetched a clean tub of water from the kitchen. It was easy to forget the world when she painted, lose herself in the colours. Her hand carried the brush from the water to the palette to the canvas almost of its own volition. A little blue here, some pink there, add some grey.

Sometime during the process, Skorpi got up from his charging pad to watch. And she worked until the HID lights beyond the window brightened and slanted through the blinds, speckling her desk with drops of white light.

Zaharah set the brush in the tub and sat back to admire her handiwork. Or scowl at it rather. Too dark and yet too plain. A bottle with a crumbling island trapped inside. Gnarled hands rose from grey black waters to tear away chucks of earth and rip buildings from their foundations.

"I hate it," she said to Skorpi. She should have been more ambitious with the colours, with the composition. When had her art become so... uninspired? When did everything start crumbling?

Skorpi pat her hand and offered a few beeps she guessed were supposed to be supportive. It was too late to start over. Her portfolio had to be in before exams, and she had three more pieces to complete and report due for art history.

The clock on her desk beeped, and she hit the off button before it started blaring. Eight am.

Zaharah pulled down some clothes from her closet and headed for the bath. Saturdays in Denden meant chores. Not dusting or laundry or sweeping. Chore Day was all about agriculture, tending to the many gardens and farms that kept Denden fed.

According to the schedule, she'd be at the Biodome at the heart of the island, far away from her usual place in the Orchard behind the complex. With people she didn't know. The residential blocks sat on the south and west platforms, and the residences didn't mix unless they had to. Most of the permanent ones were around Jade's age and younger, not much company for her.

Zaharah emerged from the bath, clean and dressed, and met Jade still lounged off in bed on her phone. The wooden horns Pharahdox had given her lay on her desk next to Doom Guy.

"Get up, you're gonna be late for chores." Zaharah took the pillow from her sister's gaming chair and tossed it at her head.

Jade smacked the pillow out of the air before it connected. I'm working aquatics and they love me there.

"They rostered me for the dome. You been there before?"

She shook her head. Most of the residents from the west side work there.

Great. That meant having to socialise with strangers, her favourite activity. She sat down to slide on her trainers. "You wanna come with me today Skorpi?" He beeped and skittered up to her head, tiny legs pricking her skin.

She grabbed her keycard and phone from the desk before wandering to the kitchen. The news blared on the TV, more talk of the hurricane, while Demarkus flitted around the kitchen. Pans hissed and clouds of steam billowed into the vents above the stove, carrying the scents of hash, eggs and bacon.

He handed her the Chore Day Special, a breakfast burrito wrapped up in foil, and set her packed lunch bag on the table. "Hung over? Need some aspirin?"

"Nah. I'm good. Thanks Markus." She shouldered her bag and pat down her pockets for her phone and key card. "I'm going by the lab after chores, so I may be home a little late."

"But tonight's game night. Jade's going to kick our asses in Smash."

She bit her lip. "Okay. I'll try to be quick about it."

"If you're not in by six, I'm blowing up your phone." He turned back to the stove and waved over his shoulder with a spatula. "Have a good day."

"You too." Zaharah headed downstairs and grabbed her board from the locker. "Hang on tight, Skorpi." She ollied down the complex's steps and rolled down the path into the arboretum. Pine trees drifted by as she sliced through air scented with damp earth.

The Denden Biodome took up the entire center platform, a two-storied beast named aptly after its dome shape—the most elaborate architecture on the island covering one square mile. She'd visited once, when Director Sanders had given her a tour of Denden after physical therapy.

The arboretums and facilities were dull and gloomy as a stormy day through her post-accident haze. It had taken months for her attitude to turn around, for her to stop thinking about the accident, about everything she lost. All the things she didn't get to say or do. And of course when her life had a clear direction, Cammi had to fly in like a tactical nuke and destroy her peace of mind.

Zaharah peeled the wrapper on her breakfast burrito and took a bite. Demarkus had long stopped giving her the disgusting vegan eggs and sausage and started shoving mushrooms in her food instead. Which she didn't mind as it went better with the hash.

The pine trees gave way to coconut palms as she pushed her board up the ramp to the centre platform. The Biodome's glossy dark surface gleamed under the lights like a black pearl nesting in the trees surrounding it. Zaharah walked through the grove of bare mango trees up to the entrance and stood just beyond the sensor's reach so the doors wouldn't open.

Skorpi crawled from her head to her shoulder and pointed a pincer towards the doors.

"Don't rush me. I need to mentally prepare myself for this." She popped the last bit of burrito in her mouth and continued her forward march.

The doors parted to reveal a room filled with lockers much like those at the residential complex. A lone android manned the front desk, her face illuminated by the screen of a computer. "Hi!" she said, with pep that stabbed Zaharah's ears like a needle. Why couldn't androids be programmed to hate their jobs like everyone else? "Can I get your name?"

"Zaharah Devereaux." She chucked her crumpled wrapper into the waste chute by the door.

The android poked away at her computer screen. "Ah, you're our replacement. One of our regulars is out sick, but I'm sure you'll fit in fine here." She handed Zaharah a key card with the number sixty-three on it. "Your locker. Just head in when you're ready."

"Thanks." Zaharah stuffed her lunch bag and long board in the assigned locker and pocketed the keycard. The door took her into the first green room. HID lights beamed down from the ceiling, illuminating the pots of saplings and seedlings. A woman drifted around the room, and Zaharah had to stare for longer than appropriate before recognition smack her upside the head.

Gone was the sparkly get-up, replaced by a floor length androsia skirt and a white crop-top. Rope twists and a crown of yellow elders topped her head instead of a pink wig and twisted wooden horns. She frowned at the sprout in her hands, and expression that made her lips even poutier.

Zaharah smiled. "Pharahdox."