I set the globe down on the table carefully. Without the roar and lights, it looks almost ordinary—just glass and reflections. My arms are grateful for the break; my head isn’t. The quiet makes the last ten minutes rush back in like a delayed avalanche.
Her face at the fence. That smile.See you around, Mr. Baier.
“Fabio?” Vincent prompts. “Are you listening?”
“Yeah,” I say automatically. “Interviews, photos, don’t run away. Got it.”
He eyes me, then taps something on his tablet. “Two minutes,” he concedes. “Breathe. Drink water. But please, for once, don’t pick up another scandal in a broom closet, okay?”
I huff out something that might be a laugh. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He leaves, pulling the door almost shut behind him. The sudden almost-silence presses on my ears. Outside, the muffled crowd noise hums like wind through trees.
I stare at the globe for a heartbeat, then dig my phone out of my pocket with fingers that don’t feel entirely under my control.
My thumbs are already moving before I’ve thought it through.
You’re here?I type.Here, of all places? Why didn’t you let me know?
ZLATA:Didn’t want to disturb your focus.
Three dots appear and disappear. I stare at the screen, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
ZLATA:I’m proud of you, champ.
I want to type something back when Vincent’s head appears in the doorway.
“The Krone’s waiting,” he says. I tuck the phone away and put my legs on autopilot. The reporter is already waiting at a makeshift table on a sunbathed platform, and Vincent directs me into a chair and places both the small GS and the big overall globes on the table.
“So,” the reporter flashes her smile and shoves a voice recorder in front of me. “Mr. Baier, congratulations. How does it feel to be the overall champion?”
“Great,” I stutter. “The golden globe is heavier than I thought it would be, though.”
“You mean crystal globe,” she smiles.
“Right, crystal, not golden, you’re right,” I mumble and watch my boots.
The interview goes on the usual way, with me saying nothing inappropriate, but I’m lost in thought.
When it’s over, Vincent allows me a second of calm before bringing the ORF guy to the makeshift table, and I pull my phone out.
FABIO:You can’t do this to me. We need to meet. I can’t talk to journalists, thinking you’ll disappear on me again.
The answer comes almost immediately.
ZLATA:Let’s meet, then.
FAB:Where?
ZLA:Anywhere you like.
Great, like the image that comes to my mind would help my focus.
FAB:Now I’m even more distracted.
ZLA:Good. I’ll be waiting for you.
FAB: Where?
