A coconut-scented lantern burns low on the table as Inkognito sits on the velvet-rope terrace, watching the last light leave the Maldivian sky. He taps a thin line of ash from his hand-rolled cigar over the rail, unhurried.

Screw-Jay's Coconut Nights drifts from the bar speakers, its tempo matching the stillness of the water below. Inkognito catches his own reflection in the wine glass and lets the track play out.