Silvia

Navigating Winterwood's labyrinth of corridors, Mila appeared at my side with her usual hurricane energy. We leaned in close, whispering like we were undercover spies.

That's when he appeared. The boy from homeroom.

Before I could dodge, he launched himself onto my back, arms slinging around me like this was the school's official greeting protocol.

"Look who finally decided to show up," he said, grinning from ear to ear.

I swallowed the startled yelp clawing up my throat and reached for the Silus survival kit—bravado, snark, and a disregard for social etiquette. "Oh, hey, Dane," I said. "Pretty sure attendance is still mandatory, but thanks for the...enthusiastic welcome."

His grin wavered, and his gaze swept me from head to toe. Every cell in my body tensed. He was connecting dots. Dots I hadn't given him permission to connect. Any second now, he was going to point, yell "Imposter!" and watch the whole hallway explode in betrayal and drama.

"Since when do you hang out with Camila?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

...Wait. What?

Mila didn't even blink. "Hang out? Don't flatter yourself." She crossed her arms like she was about to sue for defamation. "I'm here to give him a piece of my mind for being such an ass to Silvia."

Dane visibly buffered. "Oh. Right...Silvia." His voice softened. "How's your sis?"

My own name was tossed back at me like it belonged to someone else. Which, at the moment, it technically did.

I forced a shrug. "She's fine, I guess."

He nodded. "We should catch up sometime. Bring Silvia too!"

I opened my mouth, torn between agreeing, fainting, or diving headfirst into the nearest locker. But Dane was already jogging off, blissfully unaware I wasn't his long-lost buddy, but his buddy's emotionally frazzled twin sister in disguise.

His ignorance was both a blessing and a curse. Blessing because I wasn't exposed. Curse because if all of Silus' friends were this...physically affectionate, I was going to need a new game plan. And possibly a panic room.

Mila, reading the relief bleeding off me, decided this was the perfect moment to drop a verbal grenade. "I should've warned you earlier, but there are a few people you need to watch out for if you don't want your cover blown."

I snapped my head towards her. "You're telling me this now?"

She shrugged. "My bad. Anyway, let's start with Dane Andruth, aka 'resident dumbass'. You already know him—childhood friend, probably still emotionally attached to Silus despite every reason not to be. Knows your family too well, so be careful. Next—Aiden Hyde. Dane's best friend. Silus' arch-nemesis. His ex cheated on him with Silus. Steer clear for your own good. Lastly—Jared Vino. Hates Silus more than Aiden does. Reason unknown."

"Why does Silus have so many enemies?"

She gave me a flat look. "Because he's a walking disaster." I was still processing that when she added, "Oh—and there's one more delightful soul. Speaking of the devil..."

The warning came one second too late. A petite girl was already striding towards us, her red ponytail bouncing with the smugness of someone who believed physics worked harder for her. Her eyes were foxy, and I had the distinct feeling she collected grudges like other people collected keychains.

"Ugh. You're back?" she sneered, tone dripping with venom.

Mila cocked her head, saccharine smile locked and loaded. "Felicia, honey. Forget to put sugar in your coffee again?"

Felicia smirked, her gaze pinning me like a bug under glass.. "Why bother coming back? It's obvious no one wants you here."

Mila inspected her cuticles, perfectly bored. "You're just mad Rosecrest took his sister and not you."

Felicia's jaw clenched. "I wasn't even that desperate."

"You cried in the hallway when you got the rejection letter," Mila replied, still not looking up. "Twice."

Felicia opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again...then stopped. Even her ego apparently had survival instincts.

And then—because my empathy was broken, or my brain enjoyed self-sabotage—I blurted, "You can still get into Rosecrest."

Silence.

My hand flew up too late to cram the words back in. Abort. Abort. Why was I giving the enemy life advice?

Felicia's lips twitched, just shy of a snarl. "O-Obviously! I don't need you to tell me that." She turned sharply. "Ugh, whatever. You're going to make me late for class." She stalked off with a dramatic flounce, ponytail still bouncing.

I stood there, officially diagnosed with foot-in-mouth syndrome.

Mila called after her, "Felicia, you better hurry! Wouldn't wanna miss your masterclass in eye-rolling!"

I sighed, regret curling in my chest. Not guilt exactly—more like the sinking suspicion I'd undone all of Mila's hard work in under ten seconds.

"That's Felicia Topaz," she said, reading my thoughts like subtitles. "She blames you for ruining her life. But honestly? She does a solid job of that on her own."

I glanced at where Felicia had vanished, wondering if it was too late to transfer schools. Or countries. "I should get to class before I'm late again," I muttered.

Mila grinned and gave me a shove. "Good luck. And maybe save the motivational speeches for people who aren't actively trying to murder you socially."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smiling. "No promises."

Navigating the hallway after that was like tiptoeing through a minefield—except the mines were people, and some were armed with personal history I didn't know about yet.

Winterwood was smaller than Rosecrest. Fewer buildings. Fewer classrooms. Fewer places to hide. Which was both a blessing and a logistical nightmare with fluorescent lighting.

I rounded a corner—then froze.

There was Dane. Mid-conversation with someone else.

My entire soul slammed the brakes. I pivoted so fast I nearly dislocated a vertebra and plastered myself against the wall. I wasn't emotionally equipped for another awkward Dane run-in. Especially not after Mila's helpful little warning.

From my not-so-subtle hiding spot, I strained to listen. Their voices were muffled like I was eavesdropping through a stack of pillows—until one cut through.

Deep. Smooth. Annoyingly attractive. "Took you long enough."

"Relax, Aiden," Dane said. "I was just talking to Silus."

Oh no. That wasn't just any voice. That was Aiden Hyde. One of the names on Mila's do-not-engage list.

"He's back already?" Aiden's tone was sharp. Not surprised—offended. And honestly? Fair. Silus was the type to start a fire and leave someone else holding the extinguisher.

"Come on, you're still hung up on that?" Dane asked. "You didn't even like your ex."

"It's not about her," Aiden snapped. "It's about Silus thinking he can wreck my reputation and walk away like he's untouchable."

I leaned in, curiosity outweighing my survival instincts.

"He's still a good friend of mine," Dane said, dropping his usual charm for something quieter, more serious.

"You still consider him a friend?"

"He's been through a lot."

"That doesn't give him the right to wreak havoc on innocent people."

Each word landed heavy, sinking into me like stones in water.

Silus had burned bridges. Torched friendships. Left behind enemies who clearly hadn't forgotten.

And here I was—wearing his face, walking in his mess, pretending I wasn't already tangled in the fallout.

This wasn't just pretending anymore. This was damage control.

***

Exhaustion clung to me as I stumbled through the front door. Every muscle ached as though Winterwood had hired the entire student body to trample me in formation.

One glance at the living room clock told me I had exactly zero seconds to collapse dramatically. If I didn't ditch the Silus disguise now, my part-time job would file a missing person report—and they'd use the most unflattering picture available.

I bolted into my room like a fugitive returning to the scene of the crime. The crime—identity theft. The sentence—wrestling myself out of Silus' entire existence in under three minutes. The escape plan—hope my zipper didn't jam at the exact moment my dignity was already hanging by a thread.

Three minutes later, I was back out the door—still short of breath, eyelids heavy as sandbags, legs downgraded to overcooked spaghetti.

And then came the plot twist. I'd escaped the 'Silus' persona...only to step directly into another identity crisis. This one came with ears. And a tail. And a head roughly the size of a beanbag chair.

Welcome to Twinkle Toys—the self-proclaimed ruler of whimsy at the local mall. Its crowning jewel? A six-foot rabbit mascot named "Rabbit-o," featuring a perma-grin, floppy ears, and feet big enough to legally qualify as canoes.

Yes. That rabbit was me.

Outside the store, I stood like a heat-stricken sentry, waving crumpled pamphlets at shoppers who all looked like they wanted to file me under "avoid at all costs." My voice—trapped inside fifty pounds of polyester—came out as a muffled squeak.

Children squealed with delight, dragging their parents towards me as if I were the Easter Bunny's more approachable cousin. Inside the furry sauna, I was melting, but ever the professional, I wiggled my tail and pretended I wasn't one bad step away from fainting into the food court fountain.

Mid-wiggle, I was debating whether dressing as my brother or a rabbit was the more unhinged decision when I heard it.

"Rabbit-o!"

A voice. Mellifluous. Husky in a way that could make a cinnamon roll blush.

My floppy ears perked on instinct. I scanned the crowd through the costume's mesh void.

It was Jared. One of my regulars. The kind of guy you couldn't forget even if you tried—which I had, with limited success.

He looked like he bench-pressed shopping trolleys for fun. Broad shoulders, sculpted arms, hair like spun gold, and eyes so blue they could double as luxury swimming pools.

I mustered my best artificial cheer. "Hey, Jared! How's it hopping?"

He stepped closer, flashing a toothpaste-commercial smile. "The usual," he said, but then his voice dipped. "...Until today."

I leaned in—half concerned friend, half nosy rabbit. "Oh? What's the scoop?"

"Remember that guy I told you about? He's back at school."

"Oh. That jerk."

His jaw tightened. "Don't worry. If he tries anything, I'll handle it." Without even a molecule of irony, he flexed.

I stared from inside my polyester prison. "Good to know the carrot patch is in safe hands."

"Speaking of—how's life treating you, Rabbit-o?"

"Oh, you know. Just hopping along."

He checked his watch and sighed. "Gotta bounce. Picking up my sister from daycare. Mum's swamped at work."

"See you next time," I called, waving a giant paw.

One last grin, and he melted back into the mall crowd.

I wouldn't call Jared a friend, exactly. But he'd...changed. Grown. Maybe even matured. And I wasn't mad about it. Not that I'd ever admit that to him.

Hours later—though it felt like centuries—I finally staggered home, dragging my legs. I was sticky. Hollow. Emotionally wilted. If exhaustion were an art form, I'd painted a masterpiece in sweat and regret.

I collapsed into my room without bothering to turn on the light. The shadows welcomed me like a soft-spoken therapist, and I belly-flopped onto my bed with the grace of a dying starfish.

The mattress caught me with a quiet understanding only inanimate objects—and maybe Mila—were capable of. I didn't move. My shoes stayed on. My socks were damp. My standards had fled hours ago.

And still, my brain refused to shut up. Because in that one moment of stillness, Felicia's face barged in like an uninvited guest. Why her?

Maybe it was the sharp voice. Maybe it was her ability to hijack the hallway by sheer force of will. Or maybe it was something underneath all of that. Something that felt...familiar.

As much as I hated the thought, she reminded me of Silus. Too much, actually. Same short fuse. Same stubborn pride. Same habit of lobbing emotional grenades and walking away like nothing had exploded.

And if there was one person I didn't need more reminders of right now, it was my brother.