As the mist floated around him, Jude found himself lost in a haze of uncertainty, his mind adrift in a sea of confusion. It had been two years, or so they believed, since they had arrived on the island, but in truth, time had become an abstract concept, a fleeting shadow that danced on the edges of their consciousness.
In the beginning, they had tried to keep track of the days, marking each sunrise and sunset with solemn reverence. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, they found themselves adrift in a timeless void, untethered from the rhythms of the world they had left behind.
With each passing day, the boundaries of time blurred and faded, until it became little more than a distant memory, a relic of a life that seemed like a dream. In a world where survival was the only currency that mattered, time held no sway, its passing marked only by the ebb and flow of the tides and the shifting of the seasons.
