Chapter 1

My hands shook as I spun my locker combination. Three weeks of this shit, and I kept hoping today would be different. Maybe the notes would stop. Maybe people would forget. Maybe I could just be Maya Rodriguez again, not "the killer's daughter."

I opened my locker and paper scattered everywhere.

MURDERER'S DAUGHTER. YOUR DAD KILLED THOSE KIDS. BLOOD MONEY.

I dropped to my knees, scrambling to pick them up before anyone saw. Too late.

"Oh look, Maya's cleaning up her fan mail."

"Those kids are still in the hospital, you know."

"Bet your dad's already spending his bribe money."

I kept my head down. These were kids I'd known since middle school. Sarah used to copy my math homework. Now she wouldn't even look at me.

My dad didn't take bribes. Carlos Rodriguez was the most careful architect in the city—he checked everything twice, sometimes three times. But when the children's hospital wing collapsed three weeks ago, the news needed someone to blame. A Mexican-American architect? Perfect.

"Maya?"

Blake Thompson crouched beside me, helping gather the notes. Golden boy Blake, swim team captain, who'd been paralyzed during practice two months ago. Of all people to show me kindness.

"I'm fine." I stood up, clutching the papers.

"This isn't your fault. The investigation isn't even—"

"Don't." I faced him. "You don't have to do this."

His face fell, but he didn't give up. "Not everyone thinks your dad did it."

Looking at him—sincere, damaged Blake—a thought hit me like ice water: What if I just disappeared? Then this would all be over.

That night, I made my choice.

The pool looked black under the moonlight, nothing like the bright, chlorinated chaos of daytime. I walked to the edge in bare feet, staring at my reflection in the dark water.

Mom hadn't spoken in days except to lawyers. Yesterday I heard her crying through her bedroom door—quiet, broken sobs that hurt worse than screaming.

Maybe she'd be relieved. One less reminder of our ruined life.

Dad was in county lockup, waiting for bail. Last time I saw him: "Maya, whatever happens, you're still my little girl."

But I was tired of being anyone's little girl.

The water was freezing. I walked toward the deep end, each step more certain than the last. I wasn't being dramatic—I was seventeen, old enough to make this decision.

I took a breath and went under.

Water filled my nose, my lungs. I didn't fight it. Just waited for the burning to stop.

This was supposed to be peaceful. It hurt more than I expected, but it would end soon...

A huge splash. Strong arms around my waist, dragging me up. I broke the surface coughing, gasping.

"Maya! What are you doing?!"

Blake. His face was terrified, desperate.

Why did he have to be here? Why did he always have to be the hero?

"Let me go..."

"Never." He pulled me toward the edge. "I'm not letting you go."

Then his body went rigid. He started sinking.

Right. He was paralyzed. Why the hell did he jump in?

Something pulled us both down, like invisible hands dragging us to the bottom. Water rushed into my mouth again, but now I could hear Blake choking, struggling. He was going to die because of me. I wanted to die alone, not take someone with me.

Everything went black.

Then I was sitting in the bleachers.

Sunlight streamed through the windows. My watch read 3:15 PM. This was two months ago—the day Blake got hurt.

I shot to my feet, heart hammering. This was impossible. We'd both drowned. But there was Blake in the pool below, golden and perfect and alive, practicing his freestyle like nothing had happened.

Because nothing had happened. Yet.

I remembered everything—the drowning, his terrified face, the way we sank together. This wasn't a dream. I was back at the beginning.

In ten minutes, Blake would hit the wall wrong during his turn. Dislocated shoulder, spinal injury, paralyzed from the waist down. That injury meant he couldn't save us both two months later.

My pulse quickened. If I saved him now, prevented the injury, then later he'd be strong enough to pull me out. If he saved me, I wouldn't die, wouldn't end up in this loop.

But did I want to be saved?

I sat back down, thinking coldly. I could save Blake, let him rescue me later, go back to living in hell. Or I could let this play out, let him get hurt, and in two months find a better way to die. Somewhere he couldn't follow.

Blake cut through the water, beautiful and doomed, with no idea his life was in my hands.

I'll save you this time, Blake Thompson. Keep you strong and healthy.

So you won't be there to save me.