At the cen­ter of the com­mo­tion is the head wait­ress, a young woman her­self, who is vis­i­bly shak­en as she attempts to explain what lit­tle she knows. She reveals that the dis­tressed wait­ress had been sent to the Fol­ly, a seclud­ed part of the estate, to retrieve addi­tion­al bot­tles of cham­pagne. What should have been a sim­ple errand has instead left her in a state of shock, return­ing as a mere shad­ow of her­self, unable to artic­u­late what hap­pened. The guests begin exchang­ing uneasy glances, their curios­i­ty giv­ing way to con­cern as they take stock of their sur­round­ings and search for any miss­ing com­pan­ions. A few, still dazed from the fes­tiv­i­ties and alco­hol, are slow to grasp the seri­ous­ness of the sit­u­a­tion. Oth­ers, how­ev­er, instinc­tive­ly sense that some­thing far more sin­is­ter may have occurred, their gazes flick­er­ing toward the dark­ness beyond the marquee’s warm glow.

Whis­pers of spec­u­la­tion rip­ple through the crowd as they attempt to ratio­nal­ize the waitress’s con­di­tion. One guest sug­gests that the storm, now inten­si­fy­ing out­side, could have star­tled her, the howl­ing winds and oppres­sive dark­ness play­ing tricks on her mind. Anoth­er, less con­vinced, voic­es the pos­si­bil­i­ty that she encoun­tered something—or someone—that left her in a state of silent ter­ror. Ten­sion tight­ens its grip on the gath­er­ing, but before pan­ic can set in, the wed­ding plan­ner takes charge, her pres­ence a stark con­trast to the grow­ing chaos. Though her voice is mea­sured, there is an unde­ni­able edge of appre­hen­sion as she urges cau­tion, warn­ing against rash deci­sions that could put oth­ers at risk. She reminds them of the island’s treach­er­ous landscape—its unguard­ed cliffs, deep bogs, and unpre­dictable terrain—all of which pose seri­ous dan­gers to any­one who ven­tures out unpre­pared. Her words car­ry weight, momen­tar­i­ly quelling the impulse for imme­di­ate action, yet they do lit­tle to dis­pel the grow­ing sense of dread hang­ing over the night.

The once-glam­orous atmos­phere of the wed­ding is now tinged with an eerie still­ness, as if the very island itself is hold­ing its breath. What began as a night of joy and cel­e­bra­tion has tak­en on an omi­nous new shape, the con­trast between light and dark­ness becom­ing more pro­nounced. Guests who once danced with aban­don now hud­dle togeth­er in hushed groups, their laugh­ter replaced with mur­murs of uncer­tain­ty. The mar­quee, once a sanc­tu­ary of indul­gence, now feels like a frag­ile cocoon shield­ing them from some­thing lurk­ing just beyond its bor­ders. The chap­ter

clos­es with a lin­ger­ing sense of unease, as the storm out­side rages on, its winds rat­tling the fab­ric of the mar­quee like an unspo­ken warn­ing. The guests, now sobered by fear, wres­tle with the uncer­tain­ty of what has tran­spired, their minds filled with ques­tions but devoid of answers. Though the wed­ding plan­ner main­tains her com­posed exte­ri­or, even she can­not shake the feel­ing that this night has shift­ed irrevocably—that some­thing beyond their con­trol has already been set into motion.