I’d spent years teaching myself to believe that.
“Your edge dropped.”
Mila’s voice cut through my thoughts.
I hadn’t realized she’d stepped onto the ice beside me until I felt the faint rush of air from her movement.
“I fixed it.”
“You always do.” She matched my pace while I kept my attention locked ahead.
“I’m fine,” I insisted.
“I know.”
That should have ended the conversation.
“But you were watching,” she added in a low voice.
The briefest flare of panic choked me before I locked it down.
I expelled a long breath. “It was nothing.”
“What you saw is normal here.”
I let silence stretch between us while the scrape of our blades echoed across the rink. Then I stopped near center ice. For a moment I considered keeping the thought to myself.
But this was Mila.
“Svobren.”
Freedom.
Mila went quiet beside me. “You don’t need to think about that here.”
I frowned. “It’s a word.”
“With you, words are never only words.”
I looked away before she could read too much in my face and pushed into motion again, letting speed cut the conversation apart before it could reach dangerous territory.
Then I saw him.
Kvrat.
Every thought escaped me as my pulse lurched, hard enough to throw me off my next push. My focus shattered.
Dean Foster moved through center ice with the confidence of somebody who had never spent years training himself smaller. His edges cut deep and aggressive beneath him, upper body open, every movement carrying more space than necessary because apparently nobody had ever taught him to apologize for taking it.
I recognized him in a heartbeat.
Worlds last year.
The warm-up for the Men’s final had been running while Mila and I waited for our own practice slot. I’d stood at the boards half-listening to Mila complain about the music choices while mentally running through lift entries and jump timing.
Then Dean Foster took the ice.
At first I’d only noticed speed. He moved faster than anyone else out there, driving hard through his edges without looking out of control for even a second. Most skaters at that level carried tension somewhere in their bodies—tight shoulders, rigid hands, the constant effort to contain mistakes before they happened.
