First, a softening. The fierce tropical sun lost its teeth, becoming a swollen orange coin behind a thin veil of clouds. The shadows of the coconut palms stretched long fingers across the pool deck. A gecko started its clockwork call— chuck-chuck-chuck —and somewhere in the ravine below, a rooster, hopelessly confused by the fading light, let out a single, defiant crow.

She should unpack. She should check her emails. Instead, she poured a glass of the complimentary rosé and lowered herself into the warm water of the pool, resting her arms on the edge, facing west.

The key turned in the lock with a soft, satisfying click—the sound of a door finally closing on six months of noise. Elena stepped into Villa Banyan at Lente Villas and let her overstuffed suitcase fall to the cool terracotta floor. The air smelled of frangipani and salt, and the only sound was the distant, rhythmic shush of the Indian Ocean.

She’d booked the villa on a whim, after a 2 a.m. bout of insomnia following yet another boardroom battle. The photos online had shown a swooping infinity pool, a thatched balé gazebo, and a view of the jungle tumbling down to the sea. But photos, she realized, couldn't capture the weight of the light here.