"Good morning, fiancée."
Ava's soul nearly left her body.
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no.
She froze halfway out of the car, one foot on the pavement, one still inside, her grip tightening around the strap of her bag. Slowly—very slowly—she turned.
Matthias stood a few steps away, having just stepped out of the black car parked neatly behind hers.
Morning light caught him unfairly well, casting sharp definition across his features. His hair was perfectly styled without looking like he'd tried, dark strands falling just enough over his forehead to soften the severity of his face. His uniform sat on him like it had been tailored for no one else—crisp, structured, effortless.
Annoyingly handsome.
Dangerously so.
He didn't smile. Not really. Just that faint curve at the corner of his lips—the same one he'd worn the night before.
Knowing. Calculated.
Ava swallowed.
She could feel students already looking. Whispering. Watching.
She straightened instinctively, her fingers twitching at her sides. Don't panic. Don't talk too much. Don't be you.
"Morning," she said finally, the word slipping out a little too casual. Too… her.
Matthias's eyes flicked over her—slow, deliberate. From the polished shoes she still wasn't used to wearing, up the expensive fabric of the uniform that felt far too refined for someone who lived in hoodies and joggers, to her face.
His gaze stopped at her collar.
He stepped closer.
Ava's breath hitched.
Too close.
She resisted the urge to step back as he lifted a hand, fingers brushing her tie. The contact was light, barely there, but it sent a jolt straight through her. His movements were precise as he adjusted it, straightening the knot with practiced ease.
"You did it wrong," he said quietly.
Not teasing.
Not gentle.
Just factual.
"I—" Ava started, then stopped herself. Shut up.
He finished fixing it, his knuckles brushing her collarbone for half a second longer than necessary.
Then he dropped his hand.
"There," Matthias said. "Better."
Her heart was pounding embarrassingly loud in her ears.
"Thanks," she muttered, mostly to the ground.
He leaned back slightly, hands slipping into his pockets, already withdrawing—like the moment hadn't meant anything at all.
Like he hadn't just undone her entire morning in three seconds.
Around them, whispers grew louder.
"Is that…?" "They're actually engaged?"
"He's even better-looking up close…"
Ava wanted to disappear.
Matthias, on the other hand, looked completely unbothered.
"Walk," he said, already turning toward the school entrance.
That was it.
No conversation. No explanation. No reassurance.
Just an expectation.
Ava hurried after him, heart racing. Great. Just great. First day wearing a uniform. First day pretending to be Aria. And now—
Walking into school beside the one person who knew she didn't belong here at all.
And judging by the way Matthias glanced back at her—cool, assessing, unreadable—
He was enjoying every second of it.
Ava spotted them before they spotted her.
Thank God Aria had prepared her.
Two girls stood near the lockers just ahead, leaning into each other as they laughed—comfortable, effortless, like they belonged there.
One had long, dark braids pulled into a neat half-up style, her posture relaxed but confident.
The other was shorter, lighter-haired, her smile bright and unguarded as she gestured animatedly while talking.
That's them, Ava thought.
Maya and Elise.
Aria's people.
The girls Aria had described over and over—what they wore, how they talked, which one teased more, which one noticed everything. Ava had memorized those details like survival notes.
And right now?
They were her lifeline.
"Aria!"
Elise was the first to see her. Her face lit up instantly, like Ava's presence was expected—normal.
Ava didn't hesitate.
She stepped sideways, deliberately breaking formation with Matthias, her steps quickening just enough to be natural.
"Oh—hey," she said, letting her voice lift, softer, familiar. "You guys."
Maya turned too, her dark eyes scanning Ava in a way that made Ava's spine stiffen—sharp, observant, exactly as Aria had warned.
But then Maya smiled, easy and knowing.
"There you are," Maya said.
"We were wondering if you'd ditch us completely now that you're engaged."
Elise gasped dramatically. "She didn't even text this morning. I knew it. She's officially upgraded."
Ava laughed—a quick, relieved sound that surprised even her. "Don't be dramatic."
Good. That sounded like Aria.
She felt it then—the subtle shift. The way being with them felt… easier. Like slipping into a role that already had space for her.
She risked a glance back.
Matthias had stopped.
He hadn't followed her.
He stood a few steps away, watching—hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. His gaze flicked briefly to Maya, then back to Ava, sharp and unreadable, like he was cataloguing everything.
Ava pretended not to notice.
"Come on," Elise said, looping her arm through Ava's.
"We have so much to catch up on. You disappeared after yesterday."
"Yeah," Maya added, smirking.
"Engagement, mysterious dinner, vanishing act. We deserve details."
Ava let herself be pulled away.
Each step felt like oxygen returning to her lungs.
As they walked, she felt Matthias's presence fade—not gone, but distant. Temporarily out of reach.
Escape successful, she thought.
But just before the noise of the hallway fully swallowed them, Ava felt it—
That unmistakable prickle between her shoulder blades.
She knew, without turning, that Matthias was still watching.
Not chasing.
Not interfering.
Just letting her go.
For now.
And somehow, that was even more unsettling.
Meanwhile, in City B....
Aria sat stiffly in her seat, shoulders tense in a way Ava's body wasn't used to holding.
City B felt louder than usual that morning.
The classroom buzzed with careless chatter—chairs scraping, laughter, someone tapping a pen too loudly.
Everything about it was familiar, and yet it all felt wrong, like she was wearing someone else's skin a size too loose.
Zack sat beside her.
Too close.
He had greeted her earlier with an awkward, half-smile that hadn't quite reached his eyes.
"Morning," he'd said.
She'd nodded. "Morning."
Too short. Too flat.
She could tell immediately—she'd done something wrong.
Ava was warm. Casual. She talked with her hands. She teased. She laughed easily.
Aria… didn't.
Now Zack kept glancing at her like he was trying to solve a puzzle that hadn't existed a week ago.
The teacher cleared her throat, drawing the class to attention.
"Alright everyone, we'll be returning your chemistry tests today."
Aria's fingers curled slightly on the desk.
Chemistry.
She remembered Ava complaining about it over video call. Remembered her groaning dramatically, saying, "I think I overthought question three but whatever."
Overthought.
The papers were passed down the rows.
One by one.
Aria didn't look at the top of hers when it landed on her desk.
She already felt it.
Zack sucked in a sharp breath beside her.
"No way," he muttered.
Aria glanced down.
100%
Red ink. Clean. Confident.
Perfect.
Her stomach dropped.
Oh no.
Zack leaned closer, eyes wide. "Ava—" he stopped himself, lowering his voice. "You got full marks?"
Aria swallowed. "Looks like it."
Her voice sounded wrong even to her own ears. Too careful. Too distant.
Zack shook his head, stunned. "I got an eighty. I literally stared at question five for ten minutes."
He paused.
Then, without asking, he reached over.
And took her test paper.
Aria froze.
Her first instinct was to snatch it back.
Her second was worse—panic.
Zack flipped the pages quickly, eyes scanning the neat workings, the clear formulas, the concise explanations written in Ava's handwriting.
"…You didn't even cross anything out," he said slowly.
Her pulse thudded.
"I just… followed the steps," Aria said. Vague. Safe. She hoped.
Zack studied her for a moment longer, then his expression shifted.
The tight concentration eased, and a slow grin spread across his face, the kind that felt more impressed than suspicious.
He let out a quiet laugh and slid the paper back toward her.
"Of course," he said, shaking his head. "As expected from the genius."
The word landed heavier than it should have.
Genius.
He said it with pride, like it explained everything—like it closed the gap her silence had opened.
Zack leaned back in his chair, still smiling, utterly convinced.
"I don't even know why I'm surprised anymore."
Zack turned the paper toward her, tapping a specific question.
"No, this one," he said. "How did you arrive at this answer?"
Aria looked down.
Her breath caught.
It was elegant. Efficient. Confident.
Not how she would have done it.
This wasn't memorization.
This was understanding.
Zack waited, genuinely curious, eyes bright in a way that made her chest tighten.
"Walk me through it," he said. "You explain things really well—remember last term?"
Last term.
Ava.
Not her.
Aria opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
The classroom noise faded, replaced by the rush of blood in her ears. She could feel it—the narrowing space, the way one wrong sentence could unravel everything.
Because if she explained it—
She'd expose herself.
And if she didn't—
Zack would start asking why.
"Ava?" he prompted softly.
She forced a smile.
A fragile one.
"I—" she began.
And realized, with a cold clarity, that this test...
This single piece of paper—might be far more dangerous than anything waiting for Ava in City A.