Chapter 6 – First Night, Nearly Caught
Sam's POV
The problem with pretending to be someone else is that you can’t turn it off.
Even now, lying on this bed in the dark, every muscle in my body feels stiff, locked into the role of “Sam Hale.” My voice has to stay low. My shoulders squared. My movements rougher, less careful. Even my breathing feels rehearsed.
And Elias is right there.
I can hear his breathing on the other side of the room. Calm. Slow. Too steady for sleep.
I wonder if he ever really sleeps.
The dorm is quieter now. No more shouting in the hallways, no more bursts of laughter. Just the occasional creak of floorboards and the far-off hum of pipes. It should be comforting. It isn’t. It feels like the whole building is holding its breath, waiting.
I roll onto my side, tugging the blanket higher. My chest aches from the binder, ribs pressed too tight, and I shift to ease the pressure. That’s when it happens.
A sound.
Soft, too soft.
My own voice.
A sigh. High. Feminine.
Panic slams through me.
I freeze, eyes wide in the dark. Did he hear it? God, please tell me he didn’t.
I hold my breath, waiting.
For a moment, nothing. Just the same calm rhythm of his breathing. Relief trickles in. Maybe he didn’t—
“Strange sound for a guy,” Elias says suddenly, voice low, cutting clean through the dark.
My stomach drops.
I scramble for an answer, forcing my tone deeper, rougher. “What sound?”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even shift. But I can feel his eyes on me.
“That one,” he murmurs. “You sounded… different.”
My pulse hammers so hard I’m sure he can hear it. I force a laugh, quick and sharp, praying it sounds natural. “Guess I’m just tired.”
Silence.
Too long.
Then: “Hmm.”
He rolls onto his back, the mattress creaking softly. His breathing evens out again.
But my body won’t relax.
I almost slipped. On the first night.
I press the blanket over my mouth, biting down on the fabric to muffle the frantic breaths clawing up my throat. One mistake, one wrong sound, and it’s over.
I picture the look on his face if he found out. The smirk. The disbelief. The betrayal.
And worse—the danger.
If Elias knows, the others will know.
And then I’m dead.
I stare at the ceiling until my eyes burn. Sleep isn’t coming. Not tonight.
At some point, Elias’s breathing deepens, steadier, like he’s finally drifted off. I wait. Minutes crawl by, heavy and slow.
When I’m sure he’s asleep, I slip out of bed as quietly as I can.
The floorboards creak under my weight. I flinch at every sound, every whisper of fabric. My plan is simple: bathroom. Splash cold water on my face. Breathe. Remind myself who I’m supposed to be.
I pad down the hall, hoodie pulled tight, keeping my head low. The dorm is different at night. Empty corridors stretch on forever, shadows pooling in corners.
The bathroom mirror is brutal under the fluorescent lights. My short, uneven hair sticks up in all directions, my face pale and drawn. But what catches me off guard is my eyes.
They don’t look like Sam Hale’s. They look like mine. Samantha.
I grip the sink hard.
“Get it together,” I whisper to myself, voice low, scraping.
The sound echoes, thin and fragile.
I run the tap, splash water on my face, and try again. Deeper this time. Rougher.
“Sam Hale,” I say, meeting my reflection. “You’re Sam Hale.”
The words feel steadier now.
I kill the light and head back, heart pounding less than before.
But when I push the door to the room open, I stop cold.
Elias is sitting up in bed.
Eyes wide open. Watching me.
The lighter flicks once in his hand, flame sparking and dying, sparking and dying. His face glows each time, then fades back to shadow.
“You talk in your sleep, Hale,” he says softly. Too softly.
My blood turns to ice.
“What?” My voice cracks, betrays me.
He tilts his head. The flame flares, reflecting in his eyes like tiny suns. “You said something. Couldn’t make it out.”
My chest tightens. Did I? Did I slip that far?
I force another laugh, too quick, too sharp. “Guess you were dreaming.”
His smile curves, slow and dangerous. “Maybe.”
The lighter snaps shut. Darkness swallows us again.
But I can still feel his eyes on me.
And I know, without a doubt—
He’s not buying it.