STARVATION BEACH

EXT. PARKING PULL-OFF – DAY

The SUV parks by a weathered wooden sign: STARVATION BEACH. Bolted beneath it, a smaller board of painted rules, half-sanded by wind: DAY USE RECOMMENDED. DO NOT REMOVE HISTORICAL OBJECTS. TREAT ALL CUTS IMMEDIATELY. NO CAMPING SEPT 12–14. Behind the dunes, unmistakably, in full daylight: THE MIAMI SKYLINE.

Five friends pile out into the bright afternoon. PETE stretches and breathes it in, genuinely, uncomplicatedly happy to be here. WENDY films herself.

WENDY

(to camera)

Day one. Completely off the grid. If I die out here — like and subscribe.

NATHAN

(to his own phone, documentary voice)

For the record: the grid is visible from where I am standing. The grid has a Cheesecake Factory.

DAVE

(reading the small board, dutiful)

"Day use recommended. Do not remove historical objects. Treat all cuts immediately. No camping September twelve through fourteen."

NATHAN

This beach has terms and conditions.

WENDY

(not looking up from her phone)

Nobody reads those.

A truck rolls up. RANGER SANCHEZ leans out the window.

RANGER SANCHEZ

You kids camping overnight? On Starvation Beach?

DAVE

Yes sir. Is that bad?

RANGER SANCHEZ

(a long, level stare)

Just don't cut yourselves on anything rusty.

He starts to pull away. Stops. Backs up two feet.

RANGER SANCHEZ (CONT'D)

I mean that one.

He drives off. They watch the dust settle.

ANGELA — glasses, sunhat, a book titled VETERINARY MEDICINE — inhales the sea air. She's rehearsed sounding relaxed and it isn't landing.

ANGELA

This is great. Coastal air has measurably more negative ions, which correlates with — there's a paper. It's great. I'm relaxed.

PETE

(smiling at her)

You brought a textbook to the beach.

ANGELA

It's a light textbook.

PETE

How's Boston looking?

ANGELA

Residency decision next month. Small-animal surgery. Four years of my life, one email.

PETE

You'll get it.

ANGELA

You don't know that.

PETE

I know you.

Wendy checks her phone. Gasps. Holds it to the sky like an offering.

WENDY

No bars. NO bars. We found the one beach in America with no bars.

PETE

It's one night. We'll survive it.

WENDY

(dead serious)

People like me don't survive, Pete. We trend.

Dave hauls out a cooler labeled in duct tape: THE ARCHIVE.

DAVE

Careful with that. That's the archive.

NATHAN

It's snacks. He alphabetized snacks.

DAVE

The archive is sacred.

They shoulder the gear and head down the dune trail toward the water — five idiots, golden afternoon, skyline glittering behind them like a joke nobody's gotten yet.

EXT. TRAIL TO THE DUNES – DAY

Single file through sea grape and palmetto, everyone loaded like pack mules. The skyline winks between the trees, refusing to let this feel remote.

WENDY

(filming herself walking)

Mile one of the death march. My chiropractor will be hearing about this.

NATHAN

It's four hundred yards.

Dave carries the archive in both arms, like a casket.

DAVE

The archive doesn't get dragged. The archive gets carried.

Pete drops back beside Angela, holds out his jerky bag.

PETE

Trail fuel?

ANGELA

Nine years vegetarian, Pete.

PETE

I know. I test you annually.

ANGELA

(smiling)

I always pass.

Angela, arms full of tent poles, steps around a washed-out root — her foot slides — and she grabs the old weathered plank half-buried beside the trail, the remains of some ancient boundary marker. An OLD RUSTED FILLET KNIFE, wedged in the wood, bites her.

ANGELA (CONT'D)

Ow.

A line of RED across her palm. Everyone freezes.

NATHAN

(quiet, unsettled)

"Don't cut yourselves on anything rusty." He looked at us and said it.

Pete is there instantly, wrapping her hand with his bandana. Their faces close.

PETE

Seems like I'm always patching you up.

ANGELA

(smiling despite the sting)

The treehouse.

PETE

The treehouse.

ANGELA

You promised never to bring that up.

PETE

Statute of limitations ran out on things that happened when we were ten.

They hold the look one second too long. Wendy, ahead on the trail, lowers her sunglasses. Files it away.

WENDY

Babe. You're carrying my bag wrong. It wrinkles. Now-ish.

Pete goes. Angela watches him go. Nathan watches Angela watch him go, murmuring to his camera.

NATHAN

(to camera, low)

Day one, and the love triangle already has better footing than this trail.

Angela pries the knife out of the plank and wraps it in a bandana corner, clinical even while bleeding.

ANGELA

Evidence. If this is tetanus, I'm bringing the culprit to the lab.

PETE

You're taking it with us?

ANGELA

Chain of custody, Pete.

NATHAN

The sign said do not remove historical objects.

ANGELA

The sign also said treat all cuts immediately. It's a wash.

They crest the last dune — and the beach opens out below them, wide and gold and empty.

EXT. SHORELINE – DAY

Gear dumped above the tide line. Angela rinses the bandaged hand in the surf, humming.

UNDERWATER, where no one can see, the cut darkens. BLACK veins spider across her palm like ink in water.

She lifts her hand out. Perfectly normal on top. She looks across the bright bay at the skyline and smiles, puzzled.

ANGELA

(to herself)

Huh. I could eat.

She turns and looks — really looks — at the jerky bag poking out of Pete's pack.

Nine years. And her mouth is watering.

EXT. BEACH CAMPSITE – DAY

Camp assembly, high sun. Tents rise crooked. Pete hammers a stake with a flip-flop. Angela's bandana-wrapped knife sits on the cooler lid like a specimen.

EXT. DUNE TRAIL – DAY

Nathan, escaping tent duty, discovers a weathered PARK PLAQUE half-swallowed by sea grape. He clears the sand theatrically.

NATHAN

Gather, children. History.

(reading)

"Starvation Beach. Named for a party of explorers shipwrecked here in 1868. Their supplies lost, they resorted to—"

(beat)

Oh. Oh, that's dark.

WENDY

To what? Resorted to WHAT?

NATHAN

Each other, Wendy. They ate each other.

DAVE

On this beach? This exact beach?

NATHAN

(reading on)

"Legend holds the hunger seeped into the sand itself. One scratch and it's in you till first light. At first light, the hunger passes."

(squints)

Somebody scratched underneath: "or it doesn't."

Silence. Wind. Dave slowly hugs the archive.

WENDY

That's fake. Park plaques don't say "legend holds."

NATHAN

This one does. This is an unusually dramatic plaque.

PETE

It's a ghost story for tourists. Sanchez probably wrote it himself.

They drift back toward camp, spooked and pretending not to be. Angela lingers at the plaque. Reads it again. Reads the graffiti. Reads the original line once more.

ANGELA

(quiet, to herself)

"At first light, the hunger passes."

NATHAN

(hanging back, watching her)

You don't believe in curses.

ANGELA

I don't. But if I have to pick a sentence to hang onto — I'm taking the one on top. Not the graffiti.

NATHAN

(to camera, low)

The scientist just chose which part of the scary sign to have faith in. Noted.

Angela looks at her bandaged palm. Says nothing.

EXT. BEACH CAMPSITE – DAY

Later. Pete reaches for his jerky bag on the cooler. Lifts it. Empty. He holds it upside down. One sad crumb.

PETE

Who ate my jerky?

Everyone shrugs. Behind him, sitting primly on the driftwood log, Angela chews. Swallows. Dabs her mouth with a napkin like a duchess.

NATHAN

(staring at her)

Aren't you vegetarian?

ANGELA

(mouth full)

Deeply.

EXT. BEACH CAMPSITE – DAY

Wendy stalks the camp with her phone, hunting content. She finds Angela reading against the driftwood.

WENDY

Supermodel time. Get in my story.

ANGELA

Come on. I look all frumpy.

WENDY

No. You look cute. Glasses are in.

ANGELA

Really?

WENDY

Sure. Just like that shirt.

Angela's smile fades exactly one degree. CLICK.

WENDY (CONT'D)

(checking the shot)

Bummer. Light's all wrong on you. You look like a Victorian ghost. Deleting.

Angela goes back to her book. Pete, carrying firewood, catches the whole thing.

PETE

Do you hear yourself when you talk to her?

WENDY

(scrolling)

What's that, babe?

Dave and Nathan, structuring the fire pit, exchange a look.

NATHAN

(low, to Dave)

Rate the marriage.

DAVE

(low, sincere)

Two Fritos out of ten. And I love Fritos.

Angela stands abruptly. Wobbles. Steadies herself on the log — and her stomach GROWLS. Loud. Long. Prehistoric.

Everyone turns.

WENDY

Was that the ocean?

ANGELA

(hand on stomach, unnerved)

That was me.

DAVE

(respectful)

That was awesome.

Angela crosses to the cooler for a Diet Coke. Opens the lid. Stops.

Inside: the burger patties for dinner, pink under plastic wrap.

She stares. And stares. Her fingers drum the cooler's edge — once, twice — a rhythm that isn't hers.

PETE (O.S.)

Ang? You good?

She SLAMS the lid shut. Bright smile. Too bright.

ANGELA

Peachy. Totally peachy.

Under the bandana, unseen, the black veins reach her wrist.

EXT. SHORELINE – LATE AFTERNOON

The sun has dropped. Everything is turning warm and gold. Wendy finds Dave alone, ankle-deep in the surf, eating Fritos meditatively.

WENDY

Dave. Davey. Do you work out?

DAVE

I stock shelves at Costco. It's basically CrossFit.

She traces one finger up his arm. He holds the Fritos bag between them like a crucifix.

WENDY

You know what I like about you? You don't want anything from me.

DAVE

I want you to not get sand in the archive.

WENDY

(closer, purring)

When Pete falls asleep. Maybe you and I take a little walk. See where the trail goes.

DAVE

It goes to the parking lot. It's ninety feet.

WENDY

Then we'll walk it slow.

Dave gulps. Down the beach, backlit by the lowering sun, Pete waves at them — huge and oblivious and golden.

Dave looks at Pete. Back at Wendy. A man being torn in half by a sunset.

DAVE

Why are you doing this? You have the best guy on the beach.

WENDY

(mask slipping, just a flicker)

Because he looks at her the way he used to look at me. And I'd rather burn it down than lose it fair.

She reassembles the smile. Pats his cheek.

WENDY (CONT'D)

Think about the trail, Costco.

She saunters off. Dave stares into his Fritos like they might have answers.

BEHIND HIM, up at the campsite: Angela stands over the open cooler, silhouetted against the gold, staring down at the raw patties. She inhales, slow and deep, like it's perfume.

ANGELA

(a whisper)

Hello, gorgeous.

EXT. SHORELINE – GOLDEN HOUR

The whole sky is molten. Pete, alone, splashes water on his face, shirt off. A voice behind him — low, velvet, wrong.

ANGELA (O.S.)

Hey. Babe.

He turns. Angela steps into the gold. Glasses gone. Hair down. Walking like she invented walking.

PETE

Angela? You look — different.

ANGELA

I feel amazing.

She circles him slowly. Trails a finger across his shoulders. He stops breathing.

ANGELA (CONT'D)

Cold water. Goosebumps. I love what this beach does to the skin. Don't you?

PETE

I have a girlfriend.

ANGELA

You have a situation. I'm offering an upgrade.

She leans in — lips a breath from his — and he's swaying toward her against every intention he has—

PETE

(barely)

Wait. This isn't you. You quote textbooks when you're nervous. You snort when you laugh.

Angela blinks. The strange shine in her eyes flickers. For one second she's plain old Angela — mortified, wobbling, very close to a shirtless man.

ANGELA

Why is my mouth so close to your mouth?

PETE

You tell me.

ANGELA

(dizzy, retreating)

I'm gonna go lie down. Or eat. Lie down or eat. Both.

She wanders up the beach. Pete stares at the burning sky like it owes him an apology.

PETE

(to the sunset)

Thank you for the worst best moment of my life.

He looks after her — and his face does the thing he's been not letting it do for fifteen years.

EXT. BEACH CAMPSITE – SUNSET

Fire lit against the last orange light. Beers open. The five around the flames, faces warm. Nathan holds court, phone propped and filming.

NATHAN

Truth or dare. Camp rules: no dares involving the ocean, the fire, or my body.

WENDY

Truth. Dave. That girl Heidi, senior year. What actually happened?

DAVE

Her dad caught me halfway out the basement window. I ran home with no pants. He returned the pants. To my mother. In a gift bag.

Roars of laughter.

DAVE (CONT'D)

Heidi married a guy from her church. Good dude. Meanwhile I work at Costco and guard snacks from my friends.

(kicks the sand, quieter)

I'm waiting for something. Not sure what. But when it hits me — SMACK — everything's gonna be coming up Dave.

A beat of real silence. Angela raises her Diet Coke.

ANGELA

To something hitting Dave.

ALL

To something hitting Dave.

WENDY

My turn. Pete. Truth.

(sweet, lethal)

Beach catches fire. You can carry one person out. Me or Angela?

The fire crackles. Pete's beer stops halfway to his mouth.

PETE

That's not—

WENDY

One. Person.

PETE

Angela can't swim as well as—

WENDY

It's a FIRE, Pete, why is she SWIMMING—

ANGELA

(standing suddenly)

I'm getting more ice.

She walks into the last of the light, too fast. The dying sun catches her eyes as she goes—

—and they SHINE. Flat and bright. Like an animal's in headlights.

Nathan, filming, slowly turns the phone on his own unsettled face.

NATHAN

(to camera, whisper)

What was that.

EXT. BEACH CAMPSITE – DUSK

Last purple light bleeding out of the sky. Tents glowing. Wendy exits her tent in a silk sleep set entirely wrong for camping, phone-flashlight up, heading for the cooler.

WENDY

(muttering)

One Diet Coke. One. Then this beach and I are done professionally.

She rounds the tent — and stops. The cooler lid is already up. The beam finds—

ANGELA. Hunched over the open cooler, head and shoulders down inside it, like a raccoon in a dumpster. She rises slowly into the light — a raw burger patty in each hand, one cheek smeared. Her eyes glow back at the beam.

A very long silence.

ANGELA

(politely)

This isn't what it looks like.

WENDY

It looks like you're raw-dogging hamburger meat in a Yeti.

ANGELA

Then it's exactly what it looks like.

Wendy SCREAMS. Angela SCREAMS — patties still in hand. Tents erupt. Pete falls out of his tent wearing one shoe. Nathan emerges filming before his eyes are open. Dave arrives clutching the archive.

PETE

What — Angela?

Angela looks down at herself. At the patties. At her friends' faces. The shine fades from her eyes, and what's left is the worst thing so far: plain, human horror.

ANGELA

(small)

I came out for ice. That's the last thing I remember. I don't even eat meat. I was screaming it inside my own head and my hands just kept going.

She drops the patties. Backs away from the cooler like it bit her.

ANGELA (CONT'D)

Something is really wrong with me.

Wind through the palms. The plaque, somewhere in the dark, keeping its own counsel.

Dave looks at the archive, sitting untouched two feet away.

DAVE

(hollow)

She was arm's length from the Debbies.

EXT. BEACH CAMPSITE – DUSK

Fire rebuilt against the deepening blue. Emergency meeting. Angela sits on the driftwood log, wrapped in a towel like a defendant. The other four stand in a crescent.

NATHAN

Facts only. One: the ranger said don't cut yourself on anything rusty. Two: she cut herself on something rusty. Three: the extremely dramatic plaque said one scratch and the hunger's in you till first light.

WENDY

Four: she was face-down in the cooler. Like a raccoon in athleisure.

PETE

It's an infection. That's all. It's affecting her appetite.

NATHAN

Her appetite, her eyes, her whole "hello, gorgeous" energy—

ANGELA

Wait. You heard that?

NATHAN

Everyone heard that. The city of Miami heard that.

Pete kneels in front of her.

PETE

Show them.

Angela hesitates. Unwinds the bandana slowly.

Her palm: BLACK VEINS, spidering to the wrist. Firelight makes it worse. Wendy claps a hand over her mouth. Dave takes a physical step behind Nathan.

ANGELA

(clinical, voice shaking)

Localized discoloration tracking the radial artery. Onset under twelve hours. That is not any pathogen I've studied.

WENDY

So it's the curse. It's the actual beach curse and I am standing within biting radius.

ANGELA

Curses aren't real, Wendy.

WENDY

Neither is eating raw hamburger in a Yeti, and yet.

Angela opens her mouth to argue — and can't.

DAVE

(gently)

What's it feel like?

ANGELA

(long beat)

Waves. Right now I'm me. An hour ago I was watching you all around the fire and thinking—

(she stops)

PETE

Thinking what?

ANGELA

(very small)

That you'd be lovely with a little lime.

Silence. Nathan slowly raises his phone.

NATHAN

I'm starting a documentary.

EXT. BEACH CAMPSITE – DUSK

Angela in full scientist mode — it's how she copes. She's drawn a chart in the sand with a stick: a timeline with escalating tick marks.

ANGELA

Working model. It gets in through broken skin — the plaque got that much right. What I can't model yet is how fast it grows. I've seen compulsive-feeding pathology in mice. Onset, escalation, peak. If this follows the curve—

NATHAN

The MOUSE curve—

ANGELA

—then the waves get longer and closer together as the night goes on. Lucid windows get shorter. Peak hunger hits in the darkest hours. And then, if our unusually dramatic plaque is right, it breaks at first light.

WENDY

"Or it doesn't." The plaque said "or it doesn't."

ANGELA

That part was graffiti. The plaque made a promise on top — first light, it passes. I'm choosing to believe the promise and not the vandalism. That's the whole plan, Wendy. A rope, and a little faith.

PETE

So we keep you safe till sunrise. Simple.

ANGELA

No. You keep YOU safe till sunrise.

(standing, pacing — the professor)

Rule one: after dark, don't trust anything I say. The hunger is smart. It'll flatter you. It'll flirt with you—

DAVE

Wait. The sexy thing is the HUNGER?

ANGELA

The confidence, the voice — yes, Dave, the sexy thing is bait. I'm an anglerfish now. The hot version of me is the glowing lure.

NATHAN

(to camera)

The hot version of her is the glowing lure. This is the greatest night of my life.

ANGELA

Rule two: if my eyes do the shine, walk away. Rule three—

Her stomach GROWLS — that prehistoric sound. Everyone freezes. She closes her eyes, breathes through it like a contraction.

ANGELA (CONT'D)

(steady, eyes still closed)

Rule three. Hide the burgers.

WENDY

(backing away)

Where?

ANGELA

Somewhere I can't smell them.

(opens her eyes; they gleam, faintly)

And hurry. Because I can smell them right now, and they smell like Christmas.

EXT. BEACH CAMPSITE – EARLY EVENING

Angela's tent, zipped. A "security perimeter": a ring of tiki torches and one jump rope laid on the sand like police tape.

Pete and Wendy on first watch, camp chairs side by side, not touching.

WENDY

So this is date night now. Guarding your little friend so she doesn't eat us.

PETE

She'd want the same for you.

WENDY

She would NOT—

ANGELA (O.S.)

(from the tent)

I would. The rope perimeter was my idea.

WENDY

(lowering her voice)

Can we talk about the fact that you volunteered for every shift? That you patched her hand like it was surgery? That she called you "babe" at the water and you took an HOUR to mention it?

PETE

Wendy—

WENDY

Fifteen years I've watched you orbit that girl and call it gravity. Some infection makes her honest for one night and suddenly everyone's honest but you.

(standing; the real question, flat and final)

So here it is. Come to bed, Pete. Right now. Or stay out here on her watch all night — and we both finally know.

A long beat. Pete looks at the tent. At the fire. At the rope perimeter.

PETE

(quiet; it costs him everything)

I'm staying on watch.

WENDY

(quiet, no venom left)

Yeah. That's what I thought.

She stands, wraps her blanket around her shoulders like a queen's cloak, and walks to her own tent. Alone. It's the first exit she's ever made without checking who watched.

Pete rubs his face. Looks at Angela's tent.

PETE

You heard all that.

ANGELA (O.S.)

(from the tent)

The tent is nylon, Pete. The fish heard it.

PETE

(almost a laugh)

Get some sleep, Ang.

ANGELA (O.S.)

Pete?

PETE

Yeah?

No answer. He gets up. Crosses the rope perimeter. Unzips the tent flap.

Empty. The back wall of the tent is unzipped to the night.

PETE

Oh no.

EXT. DUNE TRAIL – TWILIGHT

Deep blue twilight, first stars. Flashlight beams slice the dusk. All four survivors in a huddle-walk formation, armed: Pete has a spatula, Nathan a selfie stick, Dave a rolled-up beach towel, Wendy — somehow — a full skincare spray bottle.

NATHAN

What's the spray for?

WENDY

It's rosewater. It calms.

NATHAN

She's a cannibal, not a stressed bride.

PETE

(calling softly)

Angela. Nobody's mad.

DAVE

(calling)

The Debbies are forgiven.

A sound ahead. They freeze. Beams converge on—

THE PARKING PULL-OFF. Angela — on all fours on the hood of the SUV, face pressed to the windshield vents, inhaling with her whole body.

ANGELA

(dreamy)

There's a french fry in here. Under the passenger seat. From March.

PETE

Ang. Hey. Look at me.

Her head turns — eyes ashine — then she blinks, and blinks, and it's her again. She looks down at herself. On the hood. Of a car.

ANGELA

(mortified)

I woke up mid-sniff. I was sniffing a Kia, Pete.

PETE

It's an SUV.

ANGELA

That does NOT help.

They walk her back. She hugs her own arms, humiliated, lucid, scared.

ANGELA (CONT'D)

It's getting shorter. The lucid windows. I need you to tie me up.

PETE

No—

ANGELA

The lifeguard tower. Away from the tents, upwind of the coolers. Do it while I'm still the one asking.

The group closes around her to walk her back. In the shuffle Wendy steadies her — and Angela's hand SLIPS, nails dragging three faint red lines across Wendy's shoulder.

WENDY

Ow. Watch it.

ANGELA

Sorry. Sorry.

Nobody looks twice. Not even Wendy.

The camera looks twice.

EXT. LIFEGUARD TOWER – TWILIGHT

The last blue light. Angela sits against the tower's post, arms behind her. Dave knots beach towels with surprising competence. Nathan supervises from a wary distance.

NATHAN

Where'd you learn knots?

DAVE

Costco. Pallet season.

ANGELA

(testing the wrists)

Good tension. Firm but no nerve compression. A-minus.

DAVE

What's the minus for?

ANGELA

You left my legs free, and I once watched a video of a horse opening a gate with its mouth.

Dave looks at Nathan. Nathan looks at Dave. They add the jump rope.

Pete crouches to her eye level.

PETE

This is temporary. Sunrise, we untie you, we never speak of tonight again.

ANGELA

We'll speak of it constantly. Nathan has footage.

NATHAN

I have SO much footage.

PETE

You need anything?

ANGELA

(beat; the shine flickers in, voice dropping half an octave)

A taste?

PETE

Okay, we're leaving now.

They gather up. Nathan leans in — a hair too close — for a dramatic sign-off to his phone camera.

NATHAN

(to camera)

Day one. We have contained the—

Angela's head SNAPS sideways — a blur — and she NIPS his forearm. A tiny bite. A thin red line.

NATHAN (CONT'D)

OW. She bit me. I'M BITTEN.

ANGELA

(instantly herself, horrified)

Nathan. Oh no. I'm so sorry—

NATHAN

(clutching his arm, to camera)

The documentarian has become the documented. If I turn, tell my story. Tell it handsome.

DAVE

It's a scratch, dude.

NATHAN

It is a WOUND, and I will be dramatic about it for the REST OF MY LIFE.

Angela, tied to the post, watches them fuss — and her face slowly changes. Not hunger. Grief.

ANGELA

(quiet, to herself)

One scratch. That's what the plaque said. One scratch.

She looks at Nathan's arm. Then at the black horizon where dawn will someday be.

EXT. LIFEGUARD TOWER – NIGHT

Dave on an overturned cooler, towel-sword across his knees. Angela against the post. Her eyes are clear. The campfire glows far off. It's quiet enough to be honest.

ANGELA

You didn't have to volunteer.

DAVE

Everyone thinks I'm the expendable one anyway. Horror movie rules. The snack guy goes first.

ANGELA

You're not the snack guy.

DAVE

Angela. I brought an alphabetized cooler called the archive.

ANGELA

(laughing; the real snort escapes)

Okay. You're the snack guy. But you're not expendable.

The snort hangs in the air. Dave grins.

DAVE

There she is. The real one.

He digs in his pocket. Produces — reverently — a single Little Debbie, miraculously survived.

DAVE (CONT'D)

Last of the archive. I was saving it for an emergency.

ANGELA

Dave, no. The hunger—

DAVE

It's not for the hunger.

(unwraps it, holds it to her mouth)

It's for Angela. There's a difference. I've been watching all night. The hunger doesn't say thank you.

She takes a bite. Chews. Closes her eyes.

ANGELA

(mouth full)

Thank you.

DAVE

See? That's how I know which one of you I'm feeding.

They sit in the good silence.

ANGELA

Can I tell you what I'm actually scared of? It's not the biting. It's that the hungry version of me says true things. That's what makes her dangerous. She's not a liar, Dave. She's just me with the brakes cut.

DAVE

So everything she says—

ANGELA

Is something I buried.

Dave absorbs that. Down the beach, a shape approaches through the dark — glam silhouette, careful steps, something glinting in her hand.

Car keys.

WENDY (O.S.)

(sing-song, soft)

Daaave.

EXT. LIFEGUARD TOWER – NIGHT

Wendy steps into the tower's shadow, dangling the SUV keys like a hypnotist's watch. Angela — tied, silent — watches everything.

WENDY

Change of plans. You. Me. The car. A hotel with room service, robes, and a zero-cannibal policy. She's tied up, everyone's asleep, nobody ever has to know.

DAVE

You want to leave them here?

WENDY

I want to leave the CURSED BEACH, Dave. The people are optional.

Dave stands. Looks at the keys. At Wendy — genuinely gorgeous, genuinely offering. This is everything the world says a guy like him is supposed to want.

DAVE

No.

WENDY

(blinking)

Excuse me?

DAVE

You don't want me. You want a getaway driver with abs. And these people are my family. Even the one who ate the archive. Even you, when you're not doing whatever this is.

WENDY

This is a LIMITED-TIME OFFER—

DAVE

And one more thing.

(a slow wonder spreads across his face)

Huh. SMACK.

WENDY

What?

DAVE

Something hit me. It finally hit me. This is the something.

(squaring up, two inches taller somehow)

Saying no to you is the first thing I've ever been sure of in my whole life.

Wendy stares — genuinely thrown, keys drooping. Nobody has ever said no to her. It looks like a foreign film without subtitles.

WENDY

You're all insane. Enjoy being eaten.

She storms into the dark. Dave turns back, triumphant, glowing—

DAVE

Angela, you will not BELIEVE what I just—

The towels hang EMPTY on the post. The jump rope sways gently, tidily untied. Almost politely.

DAVE (CONT'D)

Angela?

From the dunes, floating out of the dark: a long, luxurious SNIFF. And then that velvet voice.

ANGELA (O.S.)

Proud of you, Dave.

(beat)

Run.

EXT. BEACH CAMPSITE – NIGHT

MIDPOINT. Chaos in firelight. Everyone shouting at once. The camp looks ransacked — coolers open, wrappers strewn like confetti.

PETE

—she was TIED UP, Dave—

DAVE

She said RUN so I RAN—

NATHAN

(filming, arm bandaged)

The food's gone. All of it. She hit the coolers first — that's tactical. She's rationing US for later.

WENDY

(arriving, breathless)

The car is fine, I checked the car—

PETE

Why do you have the keys, Wendy?

Dead silence. The fire pops. Wendy's hand closes around the keys, too late.

WENDY

I always have the keys.

DAVE

(quiet, not cruel)

Tell him or I will.

WENDY

(long beat; then, flat)

I tried to leave. With Dave. He said no.

(to Pete)

You want honesty? There's your honesty. I was going to leave you on a cursed beach with your girlfriend the anglerfish, because being second place to a girl in READING GLASSES was more than my brand could take.

Pete takes this in. Nods slowly. It's almost gentle.

PETE

You know the worst part? I can't even be angry. Because I've been lying to both of us longer than you have.

The fire holds the silence.

NATHAN

(softly, to camera)

And the old strategy dies here. Both of them. All of it.

WIND rises. Every tiki torch gutters at once. From the dark dunes, close now — closer than anyone wants — the velvet voice, warm as a hostess.

ANGELA (O.S.)

Is this a bad time?

Four flashlight beams SNAP toward the dunes. Empty. Sand. Sea grape.

Then, from the OPPOSITE side of camp, right behind Wendy:

ANGELA (O.S.) (CONT'D)

Because I set the table.

They spin — and the beams find the driftwood log, laid out neatly: five seashell "plates," seaweed folded like napkins, one rusted fillet knife as a centerpiece.

Five place settings.

EXT. DUNE TRAIL – BLUE HOUR

The sky is deep cobalt, not yet black. The four survivors move in a tactical diamond formation that immediately falls apart. Weapons up: spatula, selfie stick, beach towel, rosewater spray.

PETE

Standard sweep. Nobody splits up. Horror rules.

NATHAN

Correction: in horror rules we're ALREADY dead. We split up an hour ago emotionally.

They round a palm — and the MIAMI SKYLINE blazes across the bay, brighter than the fading sky. Glorious. Indifferent. Forty stories of electricity.

Nathan stops. Stares at it. Something in him snaps, deadpan going operatic.

NATHAN (CONT'D)

I want it noted for the documentary that there are forty thousand restaurants right there. RIGHT THERE. She could DoorDash. There is a 24-hour Cuban place with a WINDOW. This cannibalism is a lifestyle choice.

DAVE

The hunger doesn't want ropa vieja, man. It wants what it can't have. Like everybody on this beach tonight.

Everyone goes quiet at how true that was.

Wendy steps in a crab hole — her ankle rolls — she goes down with a shriek. Pete hauls her up; she hops, hissing.

WENDY

Great. GREAT. Chased by my boyfriend's soulmate and now I have a fitness injury.

PETE

(steadying her — then stopping cold)

Wendy. Why do you smell like Dave's cologne?

Silence. Nathan's phone rises like a periscope.

WENDY

It's a very common cologne.

PETE

It's Costco brand, Wendy. He is the only man in Florida wearing it.

WENDY

(long beat; then all at once)

Fine. It's from the tower. Where I offered Dave a hotel and he chose YOU people. Which I still consider a hate crime against logic.

PETE

You made a pass at Dave. Tonight. During the cannibal incident.

WENDY

YOU'VE been making a pass at Angela for FIFTEEN YEARS. I did mine in one night like a professional.

Nathan quietly turns his phone horizontal. Cinema.

PETE

(the fight going out of him)

You know what's insane? She never once — not once in fifteen years — made me feel like second place.

WENDY

(voice cracking despite herself)

And I never got to feel like first.

That lands. On everyone. Wind in the palms.

WENDY (CONT'D)

(gathering herself, chin up)

So. For the documentary: Wendy is newly single. She is also injured, glamorous, and stranded on a haunted beach, and she would do it all again.

PETE

(gently)

Wen.

WENDY

Don't. If you're kind to me right now I'll cry, and this mascara is the only structure I have left.

A TWIG SNAPS in the dark. Everyone freezes. Beams up. Nothing. Then — soft, from the black — a slow, appreciative APPLAUSE. Two hands. Unhurried.

ANGELA (O.S.)

(velvet, moved)

Beautiful. Both of you. Truly.

(beat)

Okay. Whichever one of you is slower — start walking.

DAVE

(raising his towel)

FORMATION.

There is no formation. There was never a formation.

EXT. BEACH CAMPSITE – NIGHT

The four pound back into camp mid-retreat — and stop dead.

Water where the fire pit was. The ocean has crossed the old tide line. Foam slides between the tents, and the last of the firewood is already floating.

NATHAN

The beach is SHRINKING?

DAVE

King tide. It was ON THE SIGN. The dates on the sign are TIDES. Nobody reads the sign!

Scramble. Everyone splashing, grabbing, hauling. Pete rips a tent free of the water whole, poles and all. Nathan films one-handed and rescues with the other.

The archive cooler lifts gently off the sand and begins to drift out with a receding sheet of foam. Dave lunges after it, knee-deep.

DAVE (CONT'D)

(clutching it to his chest)

The archive FLOATS. Of course it floats. It was built for this.

In the chaos, Wendy snatches a handful of protein bars off the drowning supply crate — and slides them into her jacket instead of the salvage pile. Quick. Practiced.

The camera sees it. Nobody else does.

Up on the dune, silhouetted against the skyline, ANGELA stands ankle-deep in sea grape, watching the ocean eat their camp. Serene.

ANGELA

(velvet, carrying down the wind)

See? Everything out here is starving.

By the time the beams swing up, she's gone.

EXT. LIFEGUARD TOWER – NIGHT

Higher ground. The survivors dump what's left above the tower's pilings, soaked to the waist. Pete inventories by flashlight: half a crate. A few bars. And — dry, because Dave carried it over his head the whole way — the last full bag of Fritos.

PETE

That's it. That's everything.

NATHAN

(checking his phone)

Tide's peaked. It gives the beach back in an hour.

(beat)

Also, for the documentary: sunrise is at six-forty-one.

Out past the surf line, from the dark water's edge, a long HOWL — and this time it sounds patient.

EXT. DUNE TRAIL – NIGHT

Full dark now, but moonlit. Nathan — separated in the scramble — alone with his phone light and his bandaged forearm. He films himself. It starts as a bit and becomes something else.

NATHAN

(to camera)

Log entry. I have been separated from the group, which is statistically hilarious because I'm the one with the bite.

He walks. The dark presses in.

NATHAN (CONT'D)

(to camera, quieter)

Fun fact about me. I narrate. You may have noticed. Every terrible thing tonight, I've been captioning it. You know why?

(beat)

Because the guy holding the camera is never in the scene. That's the whole trick. You can't be the coward if you're the cameraman.

He stops. Ahead, on the trail, in the phone light's edge: ANGELA. Standing perfectly still. Head tilted. Eyes ashine.

Nathan's breath goes ragged. His thumb hovers over the phone. And then — deliberately — he LOWERS the camera. Steps into the scene.

NATHAN (CONT'D)

(voice shaking, standing his ground)

Hi, Ang. It's me. The delicious one.

She stalks a slow circle around him. Sniffs the air near his bandaged arm. He shuts his eyes.

A long pause.

ANGELA

(velvet, faintly puzzled)

Hm. No.

NATHAN

No?

ANGELA

You're not ripe.

NATHAN

I'm not — what does that MEAN—

But she's already walking past him, trailing one hand across his shoulder like they're at a cocktail party, dissolving into the dark toward the campfire glow.

ANGELA (O.S.)

(fading)

Tell Pete dinner's at midnight.

Nathan stands there. Alive. Insulted. Reborn.

NATHAN

(raising the camera again, hands trembling)

Log entry. I stood my ground. Also I may be an appetizer. Developing story.

EXT. BEACH CAMPSITE – NIGHT

The tide has given the beach back. The fire is relit on damp sand. Nathan bursts into the light. The others converge.

PETE

Where WERE you—

NATHAN

Face to face. Me and her. Full contact sniff. And she said — quote — "you're not ripe."

DAVE

Ripe.

NATHAN

Ripe. And then she said—

(beat, realizing the weight)

"Tell Pete dinner's at midnight."

Everyone turns to Pete.

WENDY

Why is dinner at midnight and why is it addressed to YOU?

Angela's sand chart went out with the tide. Pete crouches and redraws it from memory — the timeline, the tick marks. He was listening. The vet student's own science, turned against her.

PETE

Peak hunger in the darkest hours. She told us herself. She's not wandering. She's WAITING. Building up to the biggest—

(he can't say "meal")

—moment.

NATHAN

And she's not hunting randomly. She passed on me. Twice, if you count emotionally.

DAVE

(slow, working it out)

The jerky. Pete, she ate YOUR jerky first. Your tent. Your spot at the fire. At the water she came to YOU.

WENDY

(arms crossed, staring at Pete)

The hunger wants what she buried deepest. It's not hunting food.

(beat)

It's hunting you, quarterback.

The fire pops. Pete looks out at the black dunes.

PETE

(quiet)

Then we know the bait.

DAVE

Absolutely not—

PETE

We know the bait, Dave.

Out in the dark, distant, delighted — a HOWL that is somehow also a laugh.

NATHAN

(to camera)

Midnight. The documentary has a deadline.

EXT. LIFEGUARD TOWER – NIGHT

Firelight and moon. Dave has transformed. Shirt tied like a bandana, towel across his back, drawing in the sand with a stick: a general.

DAVE

She's fast, she's smart, and she can smell a french fry through a Kia.

NATHAN

SUV.

DAVE

Point is: we can't outrun her, can't outfight her. But nobody — NOBODY — knows appetite like the snack guy.

He unveils his plan: a trail of Fritos, one every few feet, leading into the lifeguard tower's under-space, rigged with the volleyball net.

DAVE (CONT'D)

She follows the trail, gets under the tower, net drops. Humane. Contained. And the chips are a tribute — the archive gives its life for its people.

WENDY

This is either genius or a police report.

DAVE

It's both. Positions.

They hide. Wait. Waves. Wind. Then — CRUNCH. Everyone tenses. CRUNCH. CRUNCH. A shadow moves along the Frito trail, low, feeding, closer, closer—

DAVE (CONT'D)

NOW.

The net DROPS. A shriek — a scramble — flashlights blaze on the thrashing net—

It's WENDY.

Cheeks full of Fritos. A protein bar in each fist. Caught mid-hoard.

WENDY

(caught, chewing, deeply dignified)

I found these.

PETE

Wendy. You've been hoarding food? While we starve?

WENDY

(swallowing)

I got hungry, okay? Like an hour ago. SO hungry. It came out of nowhere—

She scratches her shoulder. Absently. Fingernails on those three faint red lines.

The camera sees it. Nobody else does.

DAVE

(mourning, gathering scattered chips)

The archive died for THIS.

EXT. SHORELINE – NIGHT

Moonlight on the water. Wendy sits alone at the water's edge, untangled from the net, banished from the trap site "for chip crimes." Nathan approaches, offering a truce: the last unbroken Frito.

WENDY

I'm not hungry.

(beat; takes it; eats it)

Okay, I'm ravenous. Don't put that in the documentary.

NATHAN

Everything's in the documentary.

(sitting beside her)

For what it's worth, the breakup scene? Your best work.

WENDY

(dry laugh)

Fifteen years he loved her. And I knew. That's the joke — I always knew. You know why I picked Pete? He was the one guy whose eyes didn't inventory me. And then I spent four years terrified of the day he'd figure himself out, so I made sure every room we were in was about ME first.

(beat)

Exhausting, by the way. Being the loudest thing on the beach.

NATHAN

(gently)

For the record — tonight, when you got netted? First time I've ever liked you.

WENDY

(snorting — a real, unglamorous snort)

Oh no. That's Angela's laugh. It's contagious.

They laugh together. It's the first honest thing she's done at sea level. She lifts her phone to fix her face — front camera on—

Her reflection stares back. And for a single frame, her EYES SHINE — flat, bright, animal.

She blinks. Normal. She goes very still.

WENDY (CONT'D)

(to herself, steady, deciding not to know)

Ring light glitch.

Behind them, far down the beach, a shape on all fours crosses the moonlit sand, unhurried, patient.

EXT. DUNE TRAIL – NIGHT

The four, soaked and beaten, regroup at the plaque — the one landmark the tide can't touch. Flashlights on the old bronze.

WENDY

We've tried rope, a net, and chips. The beach is out of ideas.

NATHAN

(circling the plaque, filming)

Then we're missing something. Every text has a director's cut.

He pulls at the sea grape grown thick behind it — stops.

NATHAN (CONT'D)

There's writing on the back.

They tear the brush away. The plaque's rear, green with age. Not official. Carved by hand. A memorial.

NATHAN (CONT'D)

(reading)

"We bound her. We starved her. We prayed for morning. Nothing worked until someone called her by her name."

Below it, cruder, cut deeper:

NATHAN (CONT'D)

"Do not feed what entered. Feed what remains."

And beneath that, small, almost shy: initials and a date. R.S. + E.S. — 1961.

DAVE

Somebody wrote back. The plaque has COMMENTS.

WENDY

(quiet)

Nineteen sixty-one. Whoever "she" was, someone stayed the whole night and then carved a plus sign next to her initials. That's not a warning. That's a wedding.

The wind moves through the sea grape. Somewhere out there, the thing wearing their friend is listening.

PETE

"Feed what remains."

NATHAN

Okay. Evidence review. Raw meat made her stronger. The rope made her meaner. The net — meaner. But the Debbie—

DAVE

The Debbie brought her back. Because it wasn't for the hunger. I fed Angela. There's a difference. The hunger doesn't say thank you.

NATHAN

And every time she surfaces, it's never the food that does it. It's her name. The treehouse. The snort. Us — knowing her.

WENDY

(the one who understands unmet need)

Because she's not starving for food. There's an empty place, and the hunger moved in. It's squatting in whatever she never got.

Everyone slowly turns to Pete.

PETE

(long beat)

Fifteen years of me pretending not to see her.

WENDY

Then stop feeding the thing that wants us. Feed what she actually wants.

PETE

The truth.

From the dunes: a long HOWL — and it sounds delighted, like she's been listening to every word.

NATHAN

(to camera, whisper)

The plaque didn't save us. We just read our own night back to ourselves.

(beat)

Six-forty-one. One truth before sunrise.

EXT. BEACH CAMPSITE – NIGHT

The four around the rekindled fire. A plan forming in the flames.

PETE

You read the back of the plaque. Don't feed what entered — feed what remains. And we know what her empty place is.

(beat)

It's fifteen years of me pretending not to see her.

DAVE

Pete. She's at peak hunger. You'll be a charcuterie board with a jawline.

PETE

That's the bet. The hunger says true things — Dave, you told me that. It's her with the brakes cut. So if I go out there and finally say the truest thing I know, maybe the empty place fills before her teeth close.

WENDY

That is the stupidest, most romantic plan I've ever heard, and I've been to three Bachelor finales.

NATHAN

If it fails?

PETE

Frito trap, volleyball net, and you three keep her contained till six-forty-one.

He stands. Takes off nothing, brings nothing — no spatula, no jerky. Unarmed on purpose. Wendy stops him. Puts something in his hand: her lucky lip gloss.

WENDY

For grip. Also if you die, you'll die glossy. She'd want that for you.

DAVE

(hand on Pete's shoulder)

SMACK, man.

PETE

SMACK.

He walks past the fire's edge and into the dark. The three watch him go.

Down the beach, behind the driftwood, something rises to standing. Sand pours off her shoulders. She was NEVER far. She's been listening to every word.

Angela — wild-haired, moonlit, eyes like headlights — smiles, and it's both of them in there, the girl and the hunger, waiting to see who gets to the boy first.

ANGELA

(velvet and trembling, both at once)

Finally.

EXT. SHORELINE – NIGHT

Moon on the water, skyline glittering across the bay. Pete walks the waterline alone. He stops. Doesn't turn around.

PETE

I know you're there. I can hear you sniffing.

ANGELA (O.S.)

(velvet, amused)

You always could hear me before you saw me. Treehouse rule.

She circles into view — slow, barefoot on the wet sand, moon behind her. Beautiful and wrong.

ANGELA

No spatula. No jerky. No net.

(head tilt)

Which one of us is the dinner?

PETE

Neither. It's a dinner date. First one's conversation only. I'm old-fashioned.

She laughs — and for a flicker it's the real laugh, snort and all, before the velvet swallows it again. She prowls closer.

ANGELA

The hunger knows what you're doing, quarterback. It heard your little book club at the plaque. "Feed what remains." Adorable.

(circling him, a breath from his ear)

But here's what the hunger knows that you don't: I'm not fighting it anymore. It's honest. It wants, and it says so. Fifteen years I wanted, and said NOTHING—

PETE

Then I'll go first.

That stops her.

PETE (CONT'D)

Angela Ruiz. I have loved you since the treehouse. I dated the prettiest girl in Miami to have a reason not to call you in Boston. You want to know why I never called? Everything I love wears out. You never did. I wasn't going to gamble the one thing that never wore out. That's the truest thing I know, and I'm saying it to the scary version, because she's the only one who'll believe me.

Silence. The shine in her eyes GUTTERS — flickers — the real Angela surfacing, tears rising—

And the volleyball net DROPS out of the dark onto both of them. Chaos. Flashlights. The cavalry, arriving at the worst possible moment.

DAVE (O.S.)

WE GOT HER.

NATHAN (O.S.)

YOU GOT BOTH. YOU GOT BOTH OF THEM.

Under the net, tangled together, nose to nose, Pete and Angela stare at each other. Her eyes re-SHINE — full headlights.

ANGELA

(velvet, delighted)

Ohhh. Room service.

EXT. SHORELINE – NIGHT

Bedlam under the moon. The net heaves. Everyone shouting.

DAVE

HOLD THE CORNERS.

NATHAN

(filming AND holding a corner — character growth)

She's chewing the net. The net is artisanal. It won't hold.

Angela SURGES — the net tears — she's loose, wild, magnificent — and what follows is the most heroic incompetence ever staged on a public beach:

Nathan steps INTO her path — the man who narrates — and body-blocks her, yelling his own commentary.

NATHAN (CONT'D)

NATHAN ACTS. WITNESSED.

She feints past him. Wendy, injured ankle and all, TACKLES her into the surf. Two glam disasters in the moonlit shallows.

WENDY

(grappling)

I've — wanted — to do this — since your CHRISTMAS CARD—

ANGELA

(velvet, wrestling back)

It was a NICE CARD—

Dave deploys the last resort: he rips open his shirt pocket, produces the final, holiest Little Debbie, and holds it aloft like a talisman.

DAVE

ANGELA. THINK OF THE ARCHIVE.

Angela freezes. Mid-grapple. Nose twitching. The hunger and the girl both looking at that snack cake.

It's enough. Pete wraps her from behind — not a tackle, an EMBRACE — arms all the way around, cheek to her wet hair.

PETE

(quiet, into her ear)

Dinner's over. Stay for dessert.

She thrashes — weakens — stills. Breathing hard. Four exhausted friends dog-pile gently around her on the wet sand, less a capture than a group hug with extra steps.

NATHAN

(gasping, to camera, upside down)

The ensemble has entered the scene.

Beat. Then, from inside the pile, small and human:

ANGELA

(herself, muffled)

Can I still have the Debbie?

Angela's head lifts. Sniffs. Turns — not at any of them — at WENDY. A long, slow, curious sniff.

ANGELA (CONT'D)

(velvet, puzzled)

Huh. You smell familiar.

EXT. BEACH CAMPSITE – NIGHT

Fire. Angela — lucid, wrapped in a blanket, loosely towel-tied "for everyone's peace of mind" — stares at Wendy across the flames.

ANGELA

Show them your shoulder.

WENDY

My shoulder is FINE—

ANGELA

Wendy. I know what I smelled. Show them.

Slowly, Wendy pulls her collar aside. Three faint scratches — and threading out from them, unmistakable in the firelight: THIN BLACK LINES.

Group inhale.

NATHAN

(reeling)

When? You've been with us the whole—

ANGELA

The dune trail. When they walked me back. I slipped and — Wendy, I scratched you. Hours ago. I'm so sorry.

DAVE

(putting it together, horrified)

The hoarding. The net. The Fritos.

WENDY

(standing, pacing, unraveling with impeccable posture)

Okay. Yes. Fine. I've been starving since midnight. I ate the protein bars, I ate the emergency granola, I licked a photo of a steak on my OWN PHONE—

PETE

Wendy, why didn't you SAY something?

WENDY

Because SHE gets to be the tragic beautiful monster and I'm what — the sequel? I've been second to Angela all night. I was NOT about to be second at being CURSED.

Silence. Then Angela — tied, blanketed, deadly serious:

ANGELA

Wendy. That is the most honest thing you've ever said.

WENDY

(sitting back down, deflating)

The hunger says true things. I hate it here.

NATHAN

Wait. Hold on. She's been scratched for a few hours and she's already netting Fritos. I got bitten at the TOWER. Why am I fine?

ANGELA

(clinical; looking at him one beat too long)

Wound size doesn't matter. I think it grows at the speed of whatever you're starving for.

(beat)

I don't know what that means for you, Nathan.

NATHAN

(nervous laugh)

I contain multitudes?

Nobody laughs with him.

ANGELA

(to the group, clinical again — but tender now)

Two symptomatic. One sunrise. Six-forty-one.

(to Wendy)

And you're hours behind me on the curve, which means your worst wave hits—

They all look at the black horizon. Do the math no one wants to do.

WENDY

(small)

—right before dawn.

The fire pops. Angela's and Wendy's eyes — rivals all night — meet across it. And SHINE. Both. At once.

EXT. DUNE TRAIL – NIGHT

Angela and Wendy, by their own insistence, sit apart from the boys — two blanket-wrapped silhouettes on the dune, shoulder to shoulder, watching the skyline. Both fighting waves. Hunger recognizing hunger.

WENDY

Does yours have a voice?

ANGELA

More like a narrator. Everything smells like a menu.

WENDY

Mine sounds like my mother. "You're not going to eat THAT, are you?" Except now the answer's yes. The answer is yes to everything.

They laugh — both snorting now. It's the same laugh.

WENDY (CONT'D)

(long beat; the armor coming all the way off)

I made your light bad on purpose. The photo today. You looked cute. You always look cute. Fifteen years of Christmas cards from Pete's family and you're in HALF of them, in a TREEHOUSE, and I've never once been anyone's treehouse.

ANGELA

Wendy—

WENDY

Don't be gracious. I can't digest gracious right now. I can barely digest.

(she digs in her jacket; produces her final secret hoard — two pristine protein bars; stares at them; hands one over)

Here. Last of the stash. Split it with me before I fight you for it.

ANGELA

(taking it; the weight of it)

No bars, huh?

WENDY

(snort)

Found some.

They eat their bars in the moonlight. Two hungers, held at bay by something older than the curse.

ANGELA

Pete's going to choose me. You know that. Not because you lost. Because of the treehouse.

WENDY

(chewing; nodding; surviving it)

Yeah.

(beat)

Make him watch your terrible animal documentaries. He'll pretend he likes them. He's a golden retriever. He pretends he likes everything.

ANGELA

(quiet)

Thank you.

Wendy's answer is a wave hitting — her eyes SHINE, hard, and she grips the sand, riding it out. Angela grabs her hand. Holds on. The shine fades.

WENDY

(shaky)

How long till your big one?

Angela looks at the horizon. Still black. Too black.

ANGELA

I can't hold it till dawn.

EXT. BEACH CAMPSITE – NIGHT (THE DARKEST HOUR)

The true dark. No moon now, no skyline glow — just the fire, small against all that black. All five packed close around it. The plan is now just this: keep them human. Fill the empty place, minute by minute, until 6:41.

NATHAN

(consulting his phone)

Ninety minutes to sunrise. Keep them talking. Nobody gets quiet, nobody gets delicious.

They tell stories. It's a montage in dialogue — everything paying off at once.

DAVE

—so Heidi's dad returns the pants IN A GIFT BAG—

WENDY

(weak, laughing, fighting a wave)

—tell the treehouse. I want to finally hear the treehouse—

PETE

She fell out of it. Ten years old. I caught her. Broke my arm in two places and told everyone I fell off a bike, because she made me PROMISE—

ANGELA

(riding her own wave, white-knuckled, laughing anyway)

—he cried and I signed his cast "your best friend, Angela," and his MOM framed it—

NATHAN

(to camera)

The documentary would like to note it is no longer objective. The documentary loves these people.

The laughter crests — and then Angela goes silent mid-laugh. Mid-breath. Her face empties. Both eyes flood with SHINE, brighter than all night. The biggest wave. The one she said was coming.

She stands. Slow. Wrong. The fire gutters.

ANGELA

(not velvet now; something older, hollow, vast)

Run.

DAVE

Angela—

ANGELA

(a whisper, the girl underneath, one last surfacing)

Pete. The shoreline. Like we said.

(the shine takes her)

RUN.

EXT. SHORELINE – NIGHT

The last of the true dark. The withheld beat. The whole episode is this moment.

Pete stands alone at the waterline — where she washed the wound, where it started. He hears her before he sees her. He always could.

She circles him on the wet sand, all hunger now, gorgeous and gone.

ANGELA

You should run. The others ran. Running's the smart move.

PETE

I've been running for fifteen years. Look where it got me.

ANGELA

(shine flickering — the girl clawing up)

Don't. Don't do the sincere thing while I'm like this. I can't tell if I want to kiss you or marinate you.

PETE

Then let's find out.

He rolls up his sleeve. Offers his bare forearm. Steady. Total trust.

PETE (CONT'D)

Go ahead. If the hunger's stronger than you, take the arm. But I don't think it is. I think you're the strongest thing on this beach. I always have. Ten years old, you fell out of a tree and apologized to ME.

Her eyes shine — flicker — shine. She seizes his arm. Pulls it to her mouth. Teeth graze skin — everything stops—

—and she kisses the inside of his wrist. Then his palm. Then the scar on her own palm, pressed to his. When she looks up, her eyes are clear, and wet, and completely her own.

ANGELA

(a whisper)

Ask me about Boston.

PETE

What's in Boston?

ANGELA

Me. Next month. Ask me then.

He kisses her. A real one — long, both hands in her hair, waves around their ankles, the skyline burning behind them. Fifteen years earned.

She sags — he catches her — she's spent, pale, human, smiling.

ANGELA (CONT'D)

(fading, forehead to his)

The empty place. You filled it. That's so stupid. It worked and it's so stupid.

PETE

We'll carve it on the back of the plaque. "It worked, and it was stupid."

On the horizon: the faintest gray-blue. Dawn, finally coming.

Then — from the campsite — a SCREAM. Nathan's voice.

NATHAN (O.S.)

GUYS. WENDY'S EYES ARE DOING THE THING. WENDY'S WHOLE FACE IS DOING THE THING.

EXT. BEACH CAMPSITE – PRE-DAWN

Gray light rising, the black bleeding out of the sky. Wendy stands beyond the dead fire — eyes full-shine, swaying, the biggest wave of her hours-behind curve arriving exactly at the worst time. Nathan and Dave hold a cooler lid like a shield. Pete carries Angela in, exhausted.

ANGELA

(weak, urgent)

Don't restrain her — it feeds on fighting. Fill the empty place. Hers, not mine. Go.

Beat. What IS Wendy's empty place? Everyone realizes at once that they know.

Dave steps out first. No net. No Fritos. Open hands.

DAVE

Hey. Wendy. It's the guy who said no.

(walking closer)

Here's what I didn't say. I said no to the hotel. I wasn't saying no to YOU. Nobody's ever once said no to you and then stayed, right? That's the empty place.

(arms spread)

We're staying. All of us. Feral or fabulous. Both. Usually both.

The shine flickers. Nathan steps up beside Dave, lowers his phone — off, pocketed. Unarmed of his own kind.

NATHAN

No camera. No commentary. For the record, I have liked you since the net.

ANGELA

(from Pete's arms, hoarse)

You gave me your last protein bar, you gorgeous nightmare. You're somebody's treehouse. You're OURS.

Wendy — shaking, shining, fighting — looks from face to face. Five people. Nobody running.

WENDY

(voice splitting between velvet and girl)

This is a very low-production-value intervention.

PETE

(gently)

Best we could do on no sleep. Come back, Wen.

The sun BREAKS the water line behind them — first light, gold flooding the beach, the skyline going pink across the bay.

Wendy's shine gutters — flares — and GOES OUT. She collapses; Dave and Nathan catch her — the catch they've been failing at all season, finally landed.

On Angela's palm: the black veins fade to a small pale scar. On Wendy's shoulder: the lines dissolve to nothing.

WENDY

(eyes fluttering open, first words back)

Did the sunrise light look good on me?

DAVE

Honestly? Incredible.

WENDY

Then we're fine.

Laughter. Sunlight. Five ragged idiots in the gold.

EXT. PARKING PULL-OFF – MORNING

Full daylight. Gear loads into the SUV. Everyone filthy, bandaged, sun-lit, changed. Sanchez's truck idles by the sign.

RANGER SANCHEZ

Y'all have a nice night?

NATHAN

We were terrorized by an ancient hunger curse and repaired four relationships.

RANGER SANCHEZ

(nodding, unfazed)

That's the beach. See you next year.

WENDY

(limping past with her bag)

Your plaque needs a trigger warning.

RANGER SANCHEZ

The graffiti IS the trigger warning, ma'am.

Wendy stops at Angela. The last item of business. She takes off her designer jacket — THE jacket — and drapes it over Angela's shoulders.

WENDY

I'm not apologizing. My brand is unapologetic.

(beat)

But it's yours. It'll look cute. Glasses are in.

She walks on before anyone can perceive her having feelings. Angela smiles. It counts. It all counts.

PETE

(arm around Angela)

So. I'm coming to Boston next month.

ANGELA

(the real snort)

Ask me then.

PETE

I'm asking then.

NATHAN

(setting his phone on Sanchez's hood, timer on)

Places, survivors. Final frame of the documentary.

They squeeze together against the SUV — dirty, bandaged, arms around each other. Even Wendy smiles for real.

WENDY

One picture. I look feral.

DAVE

(raising the empty archive cooler overhead like a trophy)

EVERYTHING'S COMING UP DAVE.

FLASH. FREEZE on the photo: five ragged idiots, golden morning, skyline behind. A perfect moment.

The photo un-freezes. They pile into the SUV. Doors slam. Engine starts. The SUV pulls out past the wooden sign, and the camera stays on the sign as the engine fades.

Under the painted rules, scratched fresh into the wood, pale and new:

IT LEAVES WHEN YOU DO.

INT. SUV – MORNING (MOVING)

Laughter, relief, the long drive home beginning. In the back seat, Nathan idly scratches his bandaged forearm. The nip. The one bite nobody worried about, hours before anyone knew the rules.

He checks his reflection in the rear window.

His eyes SHINE. One single frame.

NATHAN

(sweetly, to the car)

Hey. Does anyone have anything to eat?

Pete's hand freezes on the wheel. Four heads turn in unison.