I inhaled slowly before answering because they watchedeverything now: posture, tone, hesitation, resistance. Years of conditioning settled over me like a familiar weight.
“Yes,” I said at last.
Every instinct I had spent the last two weeks developing recoiled from that single word. The response satisfied them. I saw it happen in subtle ways—the slight easing around Vasiliev’s mouth, the shift in Sokolov’s posture, the sense of tension loosening now that compliance had apparently been restored.
The meeting ended there. Nobody raised their voice. Nobody threatened me.
Somehow that made it worse.
I stood and left without another word. The air in the corridor outside hit me like ice water. Noise rushed back immediately—voices, footsteps, distant music from the arena overhead. Athletes moved past carrying equipment bags and coffee cups, laughing about scores and training schedules while volunteers hurried between events.
The world continued normally.
Only mine had changed.
I stopped beside the concrete wall for a moment, my pulse ragged.
The choice no longer felt abstract, something waiting in the future.
This was immediate.
Unavoidable.
I pulled out my phone, opening messages. I saw the conversation with Dean, and my throat seized.
I cannot see him like this.
Quickly, I typed.I should not have messaged you.
Because he would want to find me, to discover what was wrong.
My chest tightened to the point of pain at the thought of him walking toward me right now, probably still carrying concern in his expression because he cared enough to notice the difference between my usual restraint and genuine distress.
I stared down at the screen for several long seconds at my unsent message. I deleted it, then slowly, carefully, I typed:
Do not come.
My thumb hovered over the screen.
I couldn’t send it.
My vision blurred, and I closed my eyes.
The federation believed this could still be contained because they assumed survival instinct would win.
Until now, it always had.
My thumb remained frozen above the screen until at last I came to a decision.
I deleted the three words.
My heart quaked as I typed a final message.
And sent it.
Dean
Mom putdown her coffee cup and studied me for another moment before leaning back.
