Zoe's POV
I slipped out through the narrow path behind the building, gravel crunching softly beneath my shoes, every sound magnified in the quiet. The evening air clung to my skin—warm, restless—carrying the sharp scent of chlorine and damp concrete rising from the pool below. Somewhere nearby, water lapped lazily, oblivious.
The sun was already sinking, bleeding into the horizon in bruised oranges and tired purples, as if the day itself had finally run out of strength.
I felt the same way.
My head had been crowded all day—no, flooded. Thoughts crashed into one another, overlapping, drowning out everything else. Words formed, collapsed, and re-formed again, rehearsed so many times they'd lost all meaning.
Brandon, I'm so sorry. I'm not Chloe.
I winced and shook my head, picking up my pace as if I could outrun the thought.
Chloe is my dead twin sister. My real name is Zoe. I didn't mean to lie—I just needed to live her dream.
