The bus rattled down the winding road, carrying them into the next country. This time the landscape was sharper, wilder. Steep cliffs rose straight into the sky, waterfalls plunging like silver ribbons into green valleys, and the air tasted thinner, colder, sharper on the tongue. It felt like the world had shifted higher, closer to the heavens.
Lila leaned her forehead against the window, her reflection caught between rolling mountains and pale sunlight breaking through the clouds. She remembered this kind of ride, this kind of anticipation. They had already done things most people would never dare—bungee from cliffs, drifting in balloons, wingsuits slicing through the air. Yet her heart beat faster, because this was new, another country, another set of edges to leap from.
The teacher stood at the front, voice raised over the hum of the engine. "Today we're repeating the Sky Challenge activities, but on a larger scale. Higher jumps. Longer flights. Stronger winds. I want everyone alert and careful. The cliffs here are not forgiving."
Excitement rippled through the bus. Some groaned in mock fear, others clapped, and phones were already out to capture the scenery.
"You're glowing again," Harper whispered beside Lila, nudging her with a grin. "It's like you were born for this."
Lila only smiled faintly, her eyes still on the horizon. She didn't say what she felt, didn't admit that every time she was suspended between earth and sky, she wasn't just alive—she was untouchable.
But she wasn't blind either. She could feel his eyes. Ethan, sitting behind them, silent, watchful. Always watching.
The bus stopped at the summit. The cliffs here were brutal, jagged rocks plunging into a roaring river far below. The sound of rushing water echoed against stone, and the wind whipped harder than before, tugging at clothes and hair.
The instructors set up the bungee cords, their voices brisk as they explained the rules again. Students shifted nervously, their excitement battling against fear.
Predictably, the first name called was hers.
"Lila Hart. You're up."
Cheers erupted, laughter, chants of her name. They remembered what she had done last time—her flips, her reckless grace. Now they wanted more.
The harness bit snugly into her body as the instructor secured it, checking every strap twice. "You don't need to show off," he warned, same as before. "It's higher here, wind is harsher. Keep it simple."
Lila stepped to the ledge, her hair whipping across her face, the river a ribbon of foam far below. She breathed in the wild air and spread her arms, balance perfect.
Simple was never her way.
She leapt.
The world swallowed her whole. Wind screamed past, pulling her hair back, the rope stretching as she spun midair, twisting into a double flip before letting her body arc into freefall. She laughed out loud, wild and raw, as the cord snapped her back up and she swung into the empty sky.
Screams of disbelief echoed from above. Phones flashed. Friends yelled her name, voices torn between terror and awe.
When she was pulled back up, face flushed and hair wild, harper grabbed her in a hug. "You're insane. I mean it—you're insane!"
Lila only smiled, still breathless. "Maybe. Or maybe I just trust the sky."
But she caught sight of Ethan across the crowd. He hadn't cheered. He hadn't even moved. His eyes burned, dark and endless, his fists shoved deep into his pockets like he was holding himself back from tearing the whole setup apart.
Next was the hot air balloon. The field stretched wide, filled with balloons larger and brighter than the last ones. Their flames roared, shadows dancing across the fabric. Students piled into baskets, the ground shrinking until only clouds and endless valleys surrounded them.
The instructor smiled. "Different country, different heights. You're floating at nearly twice the altitude this time. Don't look down unless you want your stomach to drop."
"Sing, Lila!" her classmates teased, laughing as they remembered. "Come on, you sang last time—do it again! This place deserves it."
She wanted to refuse. Once had been enough, more than enough. Singing wasn't her stunt; it was her secret. But then she looked at the open sky, the mountains so close they felt like guardians, the wind carrying every sound farther than it had a right to.
So she sang.
The same voice poured out of her, soft at first, then rising stronger, weaving with the air until it was impossible to tell where she ended and the sky began.
The balloon fell silent. Friends leaned against the basket, staring, some with tears in their eyes. Phones lifted, recording every note.
Her voice soared—fearless, raw, untouchable.
But her gaze drifted sideways, locking with Ethan's from another basket. He was gripping the edge so hard his knuckles were white, his eyes fixed solely on her. There was no awe in his gaze, no simple admiration. Only a storm. Only possession.
The final test was the wingsuit. They lined up on the platform, air howling, the valley opening below like a living thing. Some students shook with nerves, some laughed nervously. Lila stepped forward calm as ever, fastening the suit with practiced ease.
When it was her turn, she dove into the wind, body slicing through the air like a blade. She twisted, rolled, spun, and the world roared back in approval. Other students followed, laughter and chaos erupting as they chased one another through the clouds. The instructors had strung a new net between two cliffs, higher and wider than before, and soon balls were flying, students diving, playing their ridiculous sky-football again.
And again, every time someone flew too close to her, Ethan was there. Not subtly. He collided hard, shoved them aside, intercepted balls he didn't even need to. His jealousy burned brighter than the sun.
By the time they landed back on solid ground, the sun was bleeding into gold and purple, painting the cliffs in fire. Everyone collapsed onto the grass, exhausted, exhilarated.
Lila lay back, chest heaving, hair spilling wild around her. For a moment, she closed her eyes and let herself believe she belonged here, in the sky, in this freedom.
Then a shadow fell across her.
Ethan crouched beside her, close enough that his heat sank into her skin. His voice was low, rough, for her ears alone. "You keep letting them cheer for you. You keep letting them see what only I should see."
Her eyes snapped open. "Ethan—"
"No." His hand pressed into the grass by her head, his face inches from hers. "Every flip, every laugh, every song—you think it's yours to give, but it isn't. It's mine. Every first, every risk, every part of you belongs to me."
Her breath caught. She wanted to argue, to shove him back, to remind him he didn't own her. But the words tangled in her throat, because some traitorous part of her wanted to believe him.
The sky stretched wide above her, but it felt like he was the only horizon she couldn't escape.