The Girl Who Died
Kerensa’s POV
The private charter bus gleams in the morning sun, its polished exterior throwing my nervous reflection right back at me.
Great.
I tug my cap lower, making sure it shadows most of my face before climbing aboard. The smell of leather and fresh carpet hits me immediately. Clean. Expensive. Nothing like home, where everything smells faintly of earth, pine, and whatever somebody cooked the night before.
I swallow and straighten my shoulders.
Wider stance. Loose arms. Chin level.
I’ve practiced this for years. It should be automatic by now.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out, and my fingers shake just enough to annoy me.
Mom.
Be careful, Rhys. Please remember who you are. I love you.
My chest tightens.
She fought so hard to accept this. To call me by the name I chose. Even now, I can hear the effort in every text she sends. She means well. I know she does.
I type back before I can overthink it.
I’ll be fine, Mom. Don’t worry about me. Love you too.
Another message pops up almost immediately.
Alpha Julian.
Remember your purpose. The pack stands with you.
I stare at the words for a second.
My stomach twists.
Purpose.
That’s what this is supposed to be about.
The tournament. The Southern Kingdom. The North. The Alpha King’s promise.
One wish.
Any wish.
Even freedom for a man they’ve called a murderer.
I lock my phone and shove it back into my pocket.
Seven years of binding my chest. Seven years of lowering my voice, changing the way I walked, learning how to take up space like a boy instead of shrinking into myself.
Seven years of pretending to be my dead brother.
All for this.
My chance to make one impossible wish come true.
I won’t forget, I reply to Alpha Julian before putting my phone away for good.
I head toward the very back of the bus and drop into the window seat.
Out of the way.
Out of sight.
Exactly where I want to be.
The engine rumbles beneath my feet. Outside, trees slide past the windows as the bus pulls away, and I press my head against the cool glass.
Seven years.
Seven years since I last saw my father.
Seven years since Rhys had—
No.
I shut the thought down before it can finish.
Not now.
My hands knot together in my lap. I squeeze until my fingers ache, using the pressure to keep myself steady.
That isn’t helpful right now.
The bus picks up speed.
The Hockey Tournament.
My chance to change everything.
If I can make the team, if I can win, maybe—
Maybe I can finally outrun the girl I used to be.
A guy drops into the seat beside me.
I flinch.
He smells like mint and clean laundry, and for one stupid second my heart jumps hard enough that I think everyone on the bus must have heard it.
I pull away from him instinctively.
“Sorry.” His voice is smooth, easy. Friendly. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I’m fine.”
I lower my voice automatically.
Low. Even. Controlled.
The register I’ve practiced so many times that sometimes I forget what my real voice sounds like.
I turn back toward the window.
Conversation isn’t part of the plan.
The less attention I get, the better.
Maybe he’ll take the hint.
He doesn’t.
“Heading to the Academy too?”
I glance at him from the corner of my eye.
“Tryouts are brutal, but I hear the training is top-notch.”
I shrug.
One shoulder.
Nothing more.
Apparently, my subtle hint isn’t subtle enough.
“Nervous?”
His gaze drops to my hands.
I immediately realize they’re clenched into fists.
Damn it.
I force my fingers open and flatten my palms against my knees.
“First time at tryouts?”
“Yeah.”
One word.
Flat.
Final.
Please let that be enough.
“Same.”
He grins.
“Though you look really familiar to me. Have we met before?”
Every muscle in my body tightens.
Familiar.
That’s dangerous.
Familiar means recognition.
Recognition means questions.
Questions mean I’m screwed.
“Don’t think so, man.”
The last word feels awkward coming out of my mouth, but I add it anyway. A small piece of the role. Another reminder that I’m supposed to be Rhys.
“Huh.”
He tilts his head, studying my profile.
“What pack are you from?”
“None of your business.”
The words come out sharper than I intend.
Shit.
I regret them immediately.
Rhys wouldn’t say that.
He’d laugh. Make a joke. Toss the question right back at the guy and somehow turn the whole thing into a conversation about anything else.
I know exactly how my brother would’ve handled it.
I just can’t seem to make my mouth cooperate.
The guy chuckles.
Instead of getting offended, he looks amused.
“Feisty. I like that.”
I finally look at him.
He smiles.
“Seriously, though. I can’t shake this feeling that I know you.”
I study him for half a second.
Clean-cut. Handsome. Kind eyes.
And that smile...
Yeah. The sort of smile that probably makes girls forget their own names.
Not me.
He’s not my type.
Not that I have a type anymore.
Not since becoming someone who can’t afford to want anything.
I turn toward him fully.
“Look, I’m here for tryouts. Not to make friends. Not to chat about old times. So if you could just—”
His smile changes.
Widens.
Recognition flashes across his face.
My stomach drops.
“Wait a minute.”
He leans forward slightly, staring at me.
“I know who you are.”
I stop breathing.
His eyes search my face.
“You’re Kerensa.”
The name hits harder than it should.
Harder than any punch ever could.
My breath catches, and my hands curl into fists in my lap.
Everything around me seems to disappear.
The bus.
The other players.
The engine.
All of it fades beneath the sound of that one word.
Kerensa.
My name.
The name I haven’t heard spoken aloud in seven years.
The name that belongs to a dead girl.
“You’re wrong.”
My voice comes out low.
Too low.
I force myself to breathe and keep my expression still, even while panic claws its way up my throat.
“My name is Rhys.”
