I stand there in the snow for a moment, phone still pressed to my ear.
She won’t use the information about VELVT’s email. No PR firm would weaponize something that risks destroying its client. That’s not how this works.
I head back toward the chalet.
Snow falls softly now, almost gently.
The door opened and Luka stepped inside, shaking snow from his hair. His cheeks are red from the cold, eyes bright.
"You saved the world yet?" he asks.
"Not yet," I say, smiling. "But they’re willing to talk."
He pauses.
"Who is?"
"The Olympic Committee."
He goes still.
"They want mediation. With your lawyer and Legacy."
His brows lift slightly.
"You did that."
"We did that."
He studies me like he’s recalibrating something.
"What do they want?"
I talk him through it.
"Youth clinics," I say. "Integrity panels. Winter Olympic promotional appearances."
He stiffens at that.
"Promotional appearances?"
"Visibility," I say carefully. "They’ll want visibility."
"So I become their talking puppet?"
"It’s leverage," I counter gently. "They get accountability optics. You get redemption without litigation."
He rubs a hand over his jaw.
"I don’t like attention."
"You’ll get a lot more of it with a lawsuit," I say. "We can negotiate. We don’t hand them everything. But we need them to come to the table."
He studies me for a long moment and then finally nods. "Let’s see what they require, and then we’ll go from there."
"I think that’s a good idea."
"Good, now can we talk about something else?" he asks, walking over and taking my hands into his," because I don’t want to spend the next forty-eight hours negotiating my soul."
