The SUV's windows were tinted so dark, it felt like Maya was riding inside a shadow. They'd been driving for nearly two hours since landing in Los Angeles, winding up the California coast on a highway that hugged the cliffs like it was afraid of falling. The ocean flashed silver-blue on one side, endless hills dotted with mansions on the other.
Agent Chen hadn't said much since Denver, just typed endless messages on her phone while Maya tried not to throw up from the winding roads. Maya didn't try to break the silence. Her new identity folder sat heavy in her lap, every page humming like a time bomb waiting to explode her old life into dust.
Alex Rivera. Seventeen. Male. Soccer transfer student from a military family.
Not Maya Castellanos, daughter, sister, girl.
Don't think about Diego. Don't think about Mom reaching for the stairs. Don't think about Dad's slack face.
She pressed her fingernails into her palms until they left marks.
The car slowed, turning up a long private road lined with palm trees that probably cost more than most people's cars. Wrought-iron gates swung open automatically, polished to a mirror shine that reflected the late afternoon sun. Beyond them stretched sprawling Spanish-style buildings with red tile roofs and white stucco walls that looked like they belonged in a movie about rich kids and their problems. Soccer fields so green they looked fake rolled out between the buildings, marked with perfect white lines.
Pacific Elite Academy.
The place where Maya Castellanos had to vanish forever.
I can do this. I have to do this.
Agent Chen finally looked at her, and Maya caught something that might have been sympathy in her eyes before it disappeared behind professional coldness. "Remember your cover story. Transfer from Denver Prep after your dad got stationed overseas. Mom's deployed, that's why you're boarding. Family's military, moved around a lot. No questions you can't handle if you stick to that script."
Maya nodded stiffly, her hands sweating against the folder. Through the window, she could see students in navy blazers and khakis walking between buildings, backpacks slung over shoulders, laughing at things she'd never understand. A group of boys kicked a soccer ball back and forth on one of the lawns, juggling it like it was second nature. They looked effortless. Like they belonged in their skin, in this place, in their lives.
Maya already felt like an intruder wearing a mask that didn't quite fit.
The car pulled up to a circular courtyard where a fountain spurted water into the air in complicated patterns. Students clustered around benches and steps, some studying, others just hanging out between classes. A few glanced at the SUV with mild curiosity—new students probably weren't that rare at a place like this.
Breathe. You're Alex. You play soccer. You don't have a dead family.
Agent Chen stepped out first, her trained eyes scanning the grounds with a subtle protective sweep that looked casual but missed nothing. Then she opened Maya's door and the California air hit her—warm and smelling of jasmine and salt water instead of Chicago's exhaust and winter.
"Alex, come on."
Alex. The name hit her chest like a physical blow. Maya bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood and climbed out on shaking legs.
A tall woman in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit waited at the steps of the main building. Mid-fifties, silver threading through dark hair pulled back in a bun that probably took twenty minutes to perfect, posture like a soldier who'd never forgotten her training. Her heels clicked sharply against the stone as she approached, each step measured and deliberate.
"Dean Victoria Thorne," she introduced herself, extending a hand that Maya took automatically. The woman's grip was strong enough to crush bone if she wanted to, but her smile was warm. Almost too warm, like she was trying to prove something. "We're so glad to have you, Alex. Pacific Elite prides itself on excellence in both academics and athletics, and I'm sure you'll fit right in with our community."
Her words were pitched perfectly for anyone listening—friendly, professional, the kind of thing deans probably said to every new student. But the sparkle in her steel-blue eyes was just for Maya, sharp with knowledge that made Maya's stomach flip.
She knows. Oh God, she knows everything.
Dean Thorne stepped closer under the pretense of shaking Agent Chen's hand, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper that somehow cut through the chatter of students and the splash of the fountain.
"Remember—I know the truth. No one else must."
The words hit Maya like ice water. This woman knew she wasn't really Alex Rivera. Knew about her dead family, her father's double life, the reason she was here wearing someone else's identity like an ill-fitting costume.
Agent Chen gave a barely perceptible nod and handed the dean a manila envelope that had appeared from nowhere. "All his paperwork. Transcripts, medical records, emergency contacts. Everything should be in order."
"I'm sure it is." Dean Thorne tucked the envelope under her arm without breaking eye contact with Maya. "Well then, Alex, let's get you settled. Agent Chen, I assume you'll be leaving shortly?"
"My plane's waiting." Chen looked at Maya one last time, and for a second her mask slipped. She looked almost... sad. "Take care of yourself, kid."
Then she was walking back to the SUV, her heels clicking against stone, and Maya was alone with a woman who knew all her secrets and a school full of people who couldn't know any of them.
"Come along," Dean Thorne said, turning toward the main building. "Let's get you oriented before dinner. You'll be rooming with Jordan Kim—good student, varsity soccer player. I think you'll get along well."
Maya followed, clutching her duffel bag and trying to remember how boys were supposed to walk. Longer strides? Different posture? The handbook had diagrams, but putting it into practice felt impossible.
One foot in front of the other. That's all. Just don't trip and blow your cover in the first five minutes.
Students they passed glanced at her with casual interest. A few nodded or said "hey" in that effortless way teenagers had with each other. Maya managed to nod back, her voice stuck somewhere between her real one and the deeper one Alex was supposed to have.
"Your room is in Hemingway Hall," Dean Thorne continued as they walked through corridors lined with portraits of Important Alumni who'd probably donated enough money to buy small countries. "Third floor, overlooking the north soccer field. A single room—given your circumstances, we thought privacy would be best."
They stopped at an elevator—because of course this school had elevators—and Dean Thorne waited until the doors closed and they were alone before speaking again.
"I want to be very clear about something, Alex." Her voice was soft but carried an edge that could cut glass. "Your safety depends on everyone believing you are exactly who you say you are. That means no slips, no moments of weakness, no forgetting which pronoun to use or which bathroom to enter. The people who killed your family are still looking. Do you understand?"
Maya's throat felt like sandpaper. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good." The elevator dinged softly as they reached the third floor. "One more thing. If you ever feel unsafe, if anything seems wrong, you come to me immediately. Day or night. Is that clear?"
"Crystal."
The doors opened onto a hallway lined with identical wooden doors, each marked with a brass nameplate. Dean Thorne led her to one that read "RIVERA, A." in precise lettering.
This is it. This is where Maya Castellanos disappears and Alex Rivera has to figure out how to live.
Dean Thorne handed her a key card. "Dinner's at six in the main dining hall. Dress code is business casual—you'll find appropriate clothes in your closet. Tomorrow you'll meet with your advisor and Coach Martinez about joining the soccer team mid-season."
She started to walk away, then paused.
"Alex? Welcome to Riverside Academy. I have a feeling you're going to do very well here."
The words sounded like a promise and a warning all at once.