"Yeah."
He exhales hard. Studies my face. Then nods, once, sharp. "Okay. Let's get you out of here."
The doctor appears beside him, hand on my shoulder. "You made the right call, Nico."
I nod. Don't trust myself to speak.
I turn and walk back out of the tunnel, skis heavy on my shoulder, heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Behind me, I hear the commentators reacting.
"Number 10, Nico Reiner on the start… Oh, this is not Nico Reiner, there must have been some last-minute change…”
I don't look back.
I just keep walking.
Away from the tunnel. Away from the gate. Away from the globe. Away from the version of myself I've been trying to save.
And for the first time in weeks, my knee isn't the only thing that feels lighter.
***
ÉLISE
Vektor hospitality tent. Screens on every wall showing live feeds of the race. I'm supposed to be coordinating a sponsor meet-and-greet, clipboard in hand, checking athletes off a list as they rotate through.
But I'm not looking at the list.
I'm looking at the screen.
Nico's bib number is coming up. Number 10. They just showed his name in the start order graphic. Fourth in the Super-G standings. If he wins, or even if he finishes second, he might still get the globe.
My stomach is in knots.
The commentator's voice cuts through the noise of the tent.
"Number 10, Nico Reiner on the start... Oh. This is not Nico Reiner. There must have been some last-minute change..."
I freeze.
On the screen, the graphic updates. DNS flashes next to his name. Did Not Start.
The tent goes quiet for a second. Then the murmurs start.
"Reiner scratched?"
"Must be the knee."
"Damn. So, Rossier gets the Super-G globe, then."
I stare at the screen, heart hammering.
DNS.
Did Not Start.
What happened?
