Maya climbed out of bed as the first rays of California sunshine painted her walls gold, but by morning, the memory of Mateo's whisper still clung to her like smoke that wouldn't dissipate. I'll figure you out. The words had burrowed under her skin during the sleepless hours, replaying on an endless loop that made her feel exposed even in the privacy of her single room.
She shoved the fear down, buried it under the familiar routine that had become her armor—pulling on Alex's uniform with mechanical precision, lacing up cleats that would never quite fit right, forcing down breakfast that tasted like cardboard while surrounded by teammates who had no idea they were sitting next to a ghost.
Just another day. Just be Alex for another day.
But the unease didn't leave. It followed her through morning classes where she couldn't focus on calculus or European history, through lunch where every casual conversation felt like an interrogation, through the afternoon hours when the anticipation in the air grew thick enough to cut with a knife.
When the entire academy gathered in the main gymnasium that afternoon, the energy was different from the usual assemblies—charged, electric, buzzing with the kind of excitement that only came when something big was about to happen. Students packed the bleachers in waves of navy and white, their voices creating a roar that bounced off the vaulted ceiling. Faculty lined the stage in their pressed suits and blazers, looking official and important.
This isn't routine. This is something else.
Even the cheer squad looked sharpened, their usual perfection honed to a razor's edge. Madison stood front and center like a queen awaiting tribute, her ponytail catching the gymnasium lights, her smile promising consequences for anyone who failed to meet expectations.
Maya found herself squeezed between teammates in the middle section of bleachers, close enough to the stage to see everything but far enough back to avoid being noticed. She kept her head down, tried to blend into the sea of identical uniforms, but she could feel the weight of attention pressing against her skin.
Too many people. Too many eyes.
Coach Rivera stepped up to the microphone—no relation to her forged last name, thank God, just another coincidence in a life built entirely on fiction. His voice boomed through the sound system, cutting through the chatter with the authority that came from decades of turning teenagers into champions.
"Listen up, Riverside Academy. This year, our soccer program has been invited to compete in the state championship tournament."
The gymnasium erupted.
Cheers crashed over Maya like a tidal wave, mixed with whistles sharp enough to pierce eardrums and stomping feet that shook the bleachers so violently she was sure they might collapse. The boys around her transformed instantly—eyes blazing with the kind of hunger Maya had only ever seen in two types of people: killers and survivors.
State championship. Jesus Christ.
"This is our shot," Coach Rivera continued when the noise finally died down to something approaching manageable, "to prove that Riverside Academy produces the finest athletes in California. But make no mistake—this opportunity comes with sacrifice."
The word hung in the air like a blade waiting to fall.
"Training doubles starting Monday. Conditioning will push you past what you think you can handle. Only the strongest, the most dedicated, the most skilled will stay on the tournament roster." His gaze swept across the bleachers, touching every player like a physical force. "The rest? Benched for the season."
The stakes sank into Maya's chest like stones dropping into deep water. Tournament meant media attention, newspaper articles, college scouts in the stands taking notes on promising players. Roster cuts meant evaluations, comparisons, the kind of intense scrutiny that could uncover inconsistencies in backgrounds that wouldn't stand up to investigation.
More eyes on me than ever. More chances to slip up, to be noticed, to be remembered.
She forced herself to clap with the others, to mask the panic curling in her gut like a living thing. Around her, teammates were already making plans—talking about training schedules, discussing strategy, speculating about who would make the cut and who would spend the tournament warming the bench.
I need to get out of here. Need to think, need to plan.
When the assembly finally ended and students began filing out of the gymnasium in chattering groups, Maya tried to edge away toward the safety of the crowd. Anonymous faces, casual conversations, the blessed relief of not being the center of anyone's attention.
But Ethan found her first.
He materialized beside her like he'd been tracking her movement through the dispersing crowd, his presence instantly recognizable even before she saw his face. His hand landed on her shoulder with the weight of familiarity, grounding her with that steady captain's gaze that seemed to see more than she was comfortable revealing.
"Rivera." His voice was low, meant just for her ears, carrying more weight than Coach's entire speech. There was something in his expression that made her chest tighten—not suspicion like Mateo's focused attention, but certainty. The look of someone who'd already made decisions about the future and expected the universe to arrange itself accordingly.
Maya looked up at him, trying to read the intentions behind his blue-gray eyes. "Yeah?"
Ethan's grip on her shoulder tightened slightly, possessive in a way that made her hyperaware of the space between them, of the other students streaming past who might be watching this interaction and drawing conclusions she couldn't afford to have drawn.
"Stick with me," he said, and his voice carried the kind of quiet confidence that had probably gotten him everything he'd ever wanted. "We'll win this thing."
The promise hung between them like a golden rope—beautiful, tempting, and potentially deadly. Because winning meant standing in spotlights, accepting trophies, giving interviews to reporters who asked questions about backgrounds and family histories and the kind of personal details that Alex Rivera couldn't provide.
He wants me on his team. He trusts me to help him win.
And Maya realized with growing horror that she wanted it too. Wanted the championship, the validation, the chance to prove that all the skills she'd buried under witness protection weren't completely wasted. For one dangerous moment, she could picture it—lifting a trophy beside Ethan, celebrating with teammates who'd become friends, being part of something bigger than survival.
That's not your life. That can never be your life.
But as she looked into Ethan's eyes and saw the future he was offering her, Maya understood that refusing wasn't really an option. Team captains didn't make casual suggestions—they gave orders disguised as invitations. And saying no to Ethan Morrison would raise exactly the kind of questions she couldn't afford to answer.
"Sounds good," she managed, hoping her smile looked more confident than terrified.
Ethan's grin widened, and for a moment he looked like what he was—a seventeen-year-old boy excited about the chance to win something that mattered. "This is going to be legendary, Rivera. Just wait."
As they walked out of the gymnasium together, Maya caught sight of Mateo across the crowded hallway. He was watching them with that same focused intensity that had kept her awake all night, his dark eyes tracking their movement with the patience of a predator who knew his prey couldn't run forever.
Tournament spotlight. Mateo's investigation. And now Ethan expecting me to be his partner in victory.
Maya had thought her situation couldn't get more complicated. She was wrong.