Greya's POV

This is it.
I've finally gone completely mental.

Three years of therapy, trying to accept that Becker's gone, forcing myself to move on—and now here I am, crying and hyperventilating while sprinting to the guys' soccer house.

I need to find Cohen. He'll confirm I'm hallucinating. Because what just happened in class—what I saw—felt too real.
Becker's alive.

Or his doppelgänger, Loxley Madden, has come to torture me more than I already am.

None of it makes any sense.

I catch up to Jasper just as he's walking inside.
"Whoa! Greya, the party's not till after the game tonight!"
He's such an ass sometimes.

Sweat drips down my temples, tears streak my face, and he stares at me like I'm about to lose it right there on his doorstep.

"Where's Cohen?" I manage between breaths, wiping my face.

"In his room... Are you okay?"

Nice of him to ask. "I'm fine." I push past him and run up the stairs.

Cohen's sitting on the edge of his bed, head buried in his hands. He knows I'm here—doesn't say a word.

"Did you know?" My voice cracks with anger.

He doesn't answer. When he finally looks up, his eyes are red and swollen.

"Did you know?" I whisper this time.

Cohen shakes his head. "No. I promise I didn't know."

And I believe him. Because we've shared the same grief. The same sleepless nights. The same hollow ache.

"Is this real? Is Becker real?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know, Cohen? Because I don't trust myself right now, and I need to know I'm not crazy."

"You're not crazy, Greya," he says softly. "It's him. But... not him."

Tears burn my eyes again.

"I saw him this morning," Cohen says. "He looked lost—was struggling to walk. I went to help him, but when he turned around..." He breaks off, pacing now. "It was Becker. Except—he didn't know me. Didn't say a word. Just showed me a piece of paper with his class number on it. He nodded and walked away. I thought I'd lost my damn mind."

I grab his arm, stopping his frantic pacing, and pull him into a hug.

"So... we're both insane?"

He lets out a shaky laugh. "No, Grey. It's him. His name's Loxley Madden now. And he doesn't remember who we are."
My heart plummets.

"I called my parents as soon as I got back here," Cohen continues. "They told me Becker's alive. They've known this whole time, Grey! They watched us fall apart and said nothing."

His parents knew?

Why would they lie? Why let us drown in grief when he was alive?

"Come on, I'm taking you home. You too, Greya," Mrs. Collins, her arms around us as the paramedics roll out a bloodied body under a white sheet.

"No! Becker!" I scream, and she hugs me tighter.

"Let's go home," she whispers.

"What about Dad?" Cohen asks, as Mr. Collins walks into Becker's house, silent and grim.

Mr. Collins was there.
Whatever happened that night, he knows.

"I don't understand, Cohen," I whisper. "Why is he back? Where has he been all this time? What happened to him?"

"I wish I knew. My parents said they'd explain everything this weekend."

"I can't wait that long."

"Then we'll go tonight after your game," he says without hesitation.

"Good. Because I have class with him, and I need answers before I lose my mind."

Cohen sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I heard he's mute. Something happened to him, Grey. Something bad."

"He was sitting right in front of me," I say quietly. "Same pen spin, same slouch, same everything. But when Jasper bumped him, he lost his balance. He could barely stand. He only used one arm to catch himself. He's... different, Cohen. He didn't remember me. He didn't even recognize me."

Cohen wraps an arm around my shoulders and presses a kiss to my temple. "Are you going to try to talk to him again?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. Seeing him today almost broke me. Talking to him might destroy what's left."

"Then we'll wait till after I talk to my parents. Sunday dinner—we'll tell the others then."

"Except Chase," I say quickly. "He can't know. Not yet."

"Agreed."

I nod and force myself to breathe. I make my way back to the soccer fields. Game mode.

By the time I hit the locker room, I'm tying my cleats in a daze.

"Earth to Grey!" Avery's voice snaps me back. "We've got thirty minutes till kickoff, and your head's in the clouds."

"Sorry. Just... a lot on my mind."

"Girl, the only thing on your mind should be the national coach watching from the stands tonight."

I force a smile. "You're right."

But I'm not thinking about scouts or goals.
Becker's alive. Alec too, maybe. And nothing about my life will ever be the same again.

Once I step onto the field, though, the noise quiets. Soccer has always been my escape. My therapy. For ninety minutes, there's no grief—just the ball, the field, and the net.

By halftime, we're up 2–0, and I glance into the stands, pointing to Chase to let him know both goals were for him. He's jumping up and down, beaming.

Then I see him.

My breath catches.

Becker—hood up, sitting stiffly at the end of Chase's row.
And next to him—

Oh my God.
Alec.

They're both alive.

Panic claws up my throat. Chase is sitting right there.
Fynn spots them too, his expression mirroring Alec's—shock, recognition, panic. Alec leans toward Becker, whispering something before both of them stand and begin the long, careful descent down the bleachers. Becker's limp is pronounced. I can barely see through my tears.

"Grey!" Avery calls, pulling me back to the field.
I force myself to move, to breathe, to finish the game.

Afterward, Fynn and Chase rush down to meet me. Chase is bubbling with excitement, rattling off details about my goals. Fynn, though, stays silent—his eyes full of questions.

"Hey," I say quietly, "can you take care of Chase tonight? Cohen and I need to go to his parents'. They have... something to tell us."

Fynn hesitates. "Um, yeah, of course."

I hug Chase tightly, then lean in close to Fynn. "I'll tell you everything when I get home," I whisper.