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So, do you like it?” Jo gestures at the main lodge a few feet away and smiles.

Juice still in hand, Hana stops beside her, breathes in the holiday smells: pine and flowers, sunbaked earth. “It’s beautiful.” She turns, taking in the candy-pink walls, the flat roofs and glass. Everything about it is striking, but her gaze keeps being pulled to the sea.

The view is breathtaking: sparkling bands of unreal color, luminous blues and greens, framed by the cypress trees around her. The horizon beyond looks like it’s simmering in the heat: a giant pot ready to boil.

“Restaurant on your right, yoga pavilion and exercise studios on your left.”

Hana nods. It’s as she thought on the boat: the communal parts of the retreat are built across this plateau, all benefiting from the same view. It’s clever—it gives the illusion of total isolation. No land, just water: an endless stretch of blue.

“Love it.” Seth puts an arm around Jo’s shoulders. “You picked well.”

Caleb’s face is impassive. It’s impossible to tell what he makes of it—either he’s ambivalent or simply isn’t one of life’s enthusiasts.

“I think we’ll be spending most of our time here.” Seth walks right, in the direction of the restaurant, flip-flops slapping loudly on the stone. “Or more accurately, the bar.”

Hana follows, taking it all in. The indoor restaurant is flanked by a large outdoor space—a terrace and bar jutting out over the cliff, with sweeping views of the sea.

Although it’s close to lunchtime, staff in white uniforms are still serving breakfast. A wooden pergola is wound with trailing plants and flowers, a large sail-shaped awning above, protecting it from the sun. Small festoon lights are strung from pillar to pillar. Acid-bright planters housing large cacti circle the terrace.

From this angle Hana can see the rope swing: the most Instagram-worthy spot at the retreat. A guest is swinging from one of the ropes, feet ruffling the surface of the water.

As they turn, walk the other way, starting to skirt the perimeter of the yoga pavilion, Hana’s eyes pick out the villas dotted below, blending into lush foliage.

“It’s a bit of a walk to ours,” Jo says, following her gaze.

“How far? I—” But she stops, suddenly hit by the sight of the rock above her.

Hana was expecting the shape to be less dramatic close up, but if anything, it’s more pronounced—a side profile of the reaper. She takes in what could be interpreted as the dipped curve of the hood, an arm extended, and the scythe.

It’s this that her eyes fixate on—the slight hook to the stone blade.

She looks away, catching Seth’s eye. He glances up at the rock and then at her, a smile playing on his lips.

Despite the sun warming her bare shoulders, Hana shivers.