We walk side by side down a narrow trail, the leaves of the great sequoias pattering in the breeze overhead.

“Then you came to the right place.” She smiles. “And if you’re here, you must be talented.” We approach a cute boy with dark hair and golden skin leaning against a tree, studying his schedule. His jaw is clenched, accentuating his face’s angles, and his arms are ripped, his biceps bulging beneath his jumpsuit sleeves. First Garrett, and now this guy? Now entering the forest of teenage male models… Is being seriously hot a requirement to be a thief? Or maybe if you can’t use technology, there’s nothing better to do than work out… Mysteries that may never be solved.

Rayelle lowers her voice. “We’ve only had one other transfer— Hi Kyran!” Breaking into a megawatt smile, she waves like she’s trying to flag down a rescue drone.

Kyran glances up. “Hey.”

“You get to run your Initiation Heist this year! Aren’t you excited?”

He glances over his shoulder like he’s searching for an escape hatch. “Sure.”

“Are you going to the dorms?” she asks. “Do you want to walk with us?”

“Nah. I’m waiting for Garrett.” Shrugging, he goes back to reading.

I wince at his easy dismissal while my ears perk up at the possibility of a Garrett sighting.

“Okay. See you down there!” she says, unfazed. We continue past him, and my cheeks burn for her.

“That was him—the transfer,” she continues. “From the School of the Seven Bells in Colombia. He’s a legacy, though. His parents are big-time smugglers, and he’s a natural—he’ll be one of the final four for sure. Rumor has it he could pass the Seven Bell pickpocket test by the time he was five.”

She’s speaking a foreign language. “What’s a legacy?”

“It means your parents are thieves. I’m a legacy, too. In fact, all of us are, except you, I guess. My parents are hustlers in Vegas by day and Cirque du Soleil performers by night. Fitting into tight spaces is my specialty.” She smiles, and her cheeks bunch up.

If by tight spaces, you mean your uniform. The cruel thought hijacks my brain, and I immediately compliment her to counteract the shallow thinking that’s ingrained in me. Ugh. I’m the worst. “Judge the girls and worship the guys” no more. “You must be really flexible,” I say, summoning genuine interest.

“I am.” Coming to a halt, she bends over backward and grabs her ankles before wedging her head and shoulders between her knees and pushing into a handstand to get out of the pose.

Jaw slack, I stare as she flips onto her feet.

“What do your parents do?” she asks, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“I was adopted, so I’m not sure if I’m a legacy,” I say, regaining my wits. “I suppose it’s possible.” We continue down the trail.

“Oh.” She frowns. “I’m sorry about your real parents.”

“Don’t be. I never met them, so I don’t miss them. But my adoptive parents definitely weren’t thieves.”