I shut my laptop and slide it into my bag.Outside, I see the guys waving.Break's over.
We walk out in silence.
"Finally got your private moment?"Martin purrs, like he's narrating a trailer.
Lukas doesn't even slow down."Not private.There were witnesses."
Martin grins."As if that's ever stopped either of you."
"I do care about image," I say, smiling."And what's more, I care about his image.And yours, by the way.So I might schedule a meeting with each one of you."
"Yeah, it's tough," Thomas says."She'll question you about your weaknesses, your childhood traumas…"
"I'm scared of snowcats," Niko says out of the blue.
We all stare.Even the breeze seems to pause.
Lukas, deadpan: "Jesus, Niko."Then softer, to me: "Don't use that one."
"What?They're creepy," Niko says, dead serious."And once I saw one run over a kid on my junior team."
"What?!"
"He survived.The snow was soft.We just had to dig him out.But sometimes I have nightmares where I get run over by a snowcat."
"That's definitely something you could use, Kat," Thomas says.
"I don't think I want to," I answer.
It’s absurd, and honest, and strangely perfect.And moments like this remind me why I love this circus.Even when certain images haunt my nights and make me wake up hot and sweaty.
Not talking about snowcats, though.
***
Val d'Isère, France, December 11
Thomas
Val d'Isère start hut.Always feels more like a confession booth than a starting gate.
The snow crunches under my boots as I jog in place, trying to keep the blood moving.Up here, above the Face de Bellevarde, the wind slices through layers of clothing like it has something to prove.Cold stings my nostrils with every breath.This start area's tight, shadowed by trees, and weirdly quiet.No view of the slope from here.Just nerves, steel, and routine.
Tenth place after the first run.Not a disaster for most, but a terrible result for me.I had to shut myself out completely to avoid hearing all those questions.
"What happened to Thomas Kern?"
"Is he sick or something?"
I roll my neck.Shake my arms out.Try to shake off the real reason I skied like shit on the first run.
Katharina.
She was standing behind the fence, exactly where she shouldn't be.Arms folded, eyes unreadable, jaw set like she was trying not to care.But she watched.She always watches now.
And I saw her just before the steep, and I let my mind slip for one goddamn second.
Boom.Line drifted.Inside, ski chattered.Scraped my way through the pitch like I was back in junior nationals, trying to survive.
