Early next morning, the guy I hired showed up.

Middle-aged. The name was Charlie.

Right before we hit the school gates, I ran him through the plan one more time.

He took the cash and nodded. Easy.

We hadn't even made it to class when—of course—Vivian.

Her eyes dragged over Charlie, slow and judgmental. Then she laughed. "Wow. Who's this? He screams paid actor."

My heart stuttered.

She sneered and walked off as she'd already won.

At the start of the parent-teacher meeting, they were supposed to invite the top student to the front.

But the one who stood was Linda. "My daughter Vivian has worked very hard this semester..."

A parent nearby flipped through a report card, frowning. "Isn't Riley number one?"

Linda heard. Of course she did. She turned, a smile locked in place.

"Speaking of Riley." A beat. Calm, smooth. "Her 'top score' came from copying Vivian."

The room went dead quiet.

She glanced at me. "And this child's guardians are death row inmates from Northbridge Maximum Security Prison. You all know what kind of people end up there."

A ripple moved through the room. Chairs scraped. Parents pulled their kids closer like I was contagious.

Charlie's hand shook. He looked at me, panic written all over him. "You're the daughter of death row inmates? I—I can't do this job!"

Silence. Again.

Through the anger and humiliation, I caught him hesitating. Like he might pull the cash out and give it back.

He didn't.

His jaw tightened, and he bolted for the door. "Why would I refund a murderer's daughter?"

The room exploded.

Vivian covered her mouth, laughing so hard her shoulders shook.

Mr. Todd shot up, face dark. "Riley Ray! This is a parent-teacher meeting, and you hired someone to fool us?"

My phone buzzed.

Dad Fifty-Five—Allan Hardy.

One of the top criminal investigators in the country.

[I'm in Northbridge. Came to see you. Which building are you in?]

Vivian already had her phone up, camera locked on me.

"Let's livestream it. Let everyone watch."

"Don't livestream." The words slipped out before I could stop them. "I'll apologize. My guardian's not here, but I'll apologize!"

Desperate to end it fast, I stepped onto the raised platform, grabbed the mic, and blurted, almost hysterical, "She's right! I copied the test! The score wasn't mine! I'm not smart enough to earn it! I'm sorry!"

I kept saying it. Over and over.

Then—someone shoved me from behind.

I stumbled. My forehead slammed into the edge of the platform.

Blood spread, sticky against the surface. When I lifted my head, it tugged where it had started to dry.

I pushed myself up, blood all over my face, and walked down.

The crowd split for me.

No one said a word.

Right after I stepped out, Vivian blocked me in the covered walkway.

"Leave? Did I say you could?"

She pulled a plastic bag from her purse—cafeteria scraps, still warm—and dumped it over my head.

Greasy broth slid down my hair. Bits stuck to my lashes.

"Eat it off the floor," she said. "And say, 'Thanks for the food, Vivian.'"

I didn't move.

She lifted her phone. "Then I'll livestream it."

"No!"

She laughed. "Too late. I already got it."

She shoved the phone in my face. My apology played back, clear as day.

"I can make you die whenever I want."

"You—"

My nails bit into my palm.

But for my dads—their safety, their identities—I dropped my head and slowly crouched.

Food scraps were everywhere. Mixed with dirt.

I didn't hesitate.

I reached down and scooped it up.

Just as Vivian and her minions cracked up right in my ear, a group rushed over.

"Riley."

The voice shook—but I knew it. It locked me in place.

I looked up.

Dad One stood in front. Behind him—Dad Thirty-Two, Dad Sixty-Seven, Dad Ninety-Four.

Their faces went dark. Silent. Taking in the scraps all over me, the blood on my face, the mess at my feet.

Dad One's rough fingers brushed my cheek.

Then he looked at Vivian and her minions, now dead quiet.

His voice dropped, low and heavy.

"What did you do to my daughter?"

The air went ice-cold.

I stared at Dad One. My throat locked up. The burn behind my eyes finally spilled over.

The past few days—I'd carried it all alone. Kept it buried. Didn't even dare cry out loud. If they found out, they'd come. And that would only drag them into this.

"Dad..."

"Oh, so these are your dads?" Vivian cut in, sharp and nasty.

Her eyes swept over them. Then she laughed. "Wait. Weren't your dads on death row? How are they even here?"

She laughed harder. "Don't tell me they broke out."

Her crew swarmed in, phones up, cameras clicking nonstop.

My chest tightened.

"Stop filming!" I stepped in front of them without thinking.

Then I turned to my dads, voice low. "You need to go. Your identities can't get out!"

Dad One didn't move.

He just set his rough hand on my head, gentle.

"So that's why you didn't tell us." His voice stayed steady. "Silly kid. What we do is classified. Our names aren't on any honors list, but the government knows. And after everything we've done for this country, it won't leave our kid unprotected."

I froze.

Dad Thirty-Two spoke, slow and rough. "How long have you been carrying this alone?"

Dad Sixty-Seven said nothing. His fists were tight.

Dad Ninety-Four just stared at the blood on my forehead, his gaze cold as steel.

So that was it.

I'd been wrong about everything.

"Dad!"

I threw myself into Dad One's arms and broke down. Between sobs, I told them everything—the freezing water dumped down my collar, ink all over my books, the cheating accusation, my name wiped off the top spot, all the humiliation... and today—the meeting, getting shoved and hitting my head, the food scraps.

"I was scared you'd come if you knew. Scared your identities would get out. I didn't want to put you in danger..."

Footsteps came from the other end of the walkway.

"What are you doing?!"

Mr. Todd rushed over with Linda.

Linda looked my dads up and down and sneered. "What now? More hired actors? You brat, don't think you can bully my daughter."

Her hand came up.

I caught her wrist.

I lifted my head and looked her straight in the eye.

Behind me, my dads stood there—silent, solid.

I had nothing left to fear.

"Not this time."

A luxury car screeched to a stop by the gate.

Graham jumped out and grabbed my collar. "You brat. Do you even know who I am? In Northbridge, there's no one I can't crush!"

He kept going—until his eyes landed on Dad One.

His voice cut off.

He stared. His face shifted. Then he glanced at the others, lips shaking. "You... You're..."

Dad One stepped forward. "Twenty years ago, when drug dealers were hunting you, I saved your life."

His eyes dropped to the hand gripping my collar. Calm. Cold. "Twenty years later, you're grabbing my daughter."

He paused, pulled out his phone, dialed, said a few words, and hung up.

Then—

A low roar rolled across the sky.

One helicopter. Two. Ten. Twenty...

Olive-drab choppers swept in from every direction, circling above the school. The windows rattled.

Then came the grind of tracks tearing over asphalt.

One vehicle. Two. Three...

Armored trucks rolled in from the corner, black muzzles aimed at the gate.

One man. Two. Ten. A hundred...

Men poured in from every side, surrounding Graham, surrounding Vivian, locking down the entire entrance.

Graham went pale.

The hand on my collar loosened—slow, shaky.

Dad One stood at the front, gray hair sharp against his old uniform. His eyes dropped to that hand. His voice came slowly.

"In this life, we bled for this country. It gave us honor. And we made one promise."

He stepped forward. "To protect her."

A beat. Then, colder—

"Go on. Didn't you say her dads were a joke?"

Behind him, the other one hundred and seven men moved in sync.

Boots slammed down—one heavy beat. The ground trembled.

"We're right here." Their voices hit all at once. "Touch our girl again—just try it."