Kaiden woke up warm.
Not the oppressive heat of pain or fever, but a gentle, surrounding warmth—like sunlight through half-closed curtains. For a moment, he thought he might still be alive. Maybe he'd survived. Maybe this was a hospital room and he'd imagined the worst.
Then he moved.
His body responded instantly.
Too perfectly.
Kaiden sucked in a sharp breath and pushed himself upright. The bed beneath him was wide and impossibly soft, the sheets smooth against bare skin. There were no machines humming nearby. No antiseptic smell. No pain—no ache in his chest, no stiffness in his limbs.
His heart began to race.
He lifted his hands slowly.
They were longer than he remembered. Stronger. Unmarked.
These weren't the hands that had clutched bicycle handles every night.
"These aren't mine," he whispered.
The room revealed itself in quiet detail. Polished wood floors. Neutral-colored walls decorated with framed awards—academic certificates, athletic trophies, photographs of a boy standing confidently at the center of smiling groups.
A boy who was never alone.
Kaiden slid his legs off the bed.
They were longer too.
His feet touched the floor with perfect balance, and a chill crept up his spine.
"No," he said softly. "That's not possible."
He staggered toward the mirror mounted beside the wardrobe.
The reflection stole the air from his lungs.
The boy staring back at him was tall, broad-shouldered, effortlessly handsome. Dark hair fell naturally into place, framing sharp features and steady eyes that now stared back in raw disbelief.
Eyes that were not his.
Kaiden pressed his palm against the glass.
The reflection copied him exactly.
"I died," he said hoarsely. "I remember dying."
The words unlocked something deep inside his mind.
Memories surged forward—fast, invasive, and wrong.
Kaiden Hale.Seventeen years old.Senior at Northbridge Academy.Top student. Team captain. The boy everyone loved.
The name hit him like a second collision.
Kaiden staggered backward and collapsed onto the edge of the bed as foreign memories settled into place—faces, voices, expectations, a life lived under constant attention.
A life that did not belong to him.
A knock echoed at the door.
"Kaiden?" a woman's voice called warmly. "You're up. Breakfast is ready."
His heart slammed violently against his ribs.
Someone was about to see him.
Someone who believed he was this Kaiden.
He swallowed, forcing his breathing to slow.
"I'll be there," he answered.
The voice that came out was smooth. Confident. Perfectly natural.
That terrified him more than anything else.
Alone again, Kaiden stared down at his unfamiliar hands.
A second life, he thought. But at what cost?
And as the sun climbed higher outside the window, one truth settled heavily in his chest:
He had been given everything he'd ever wanted.
And he had no idea how to survive it.