Sokolov saw it in a heartbeat. “Pain?” he asked in a low voice.
“Just tight.”
“How tight?”
I shrugged instead of answering.
Beside me, Mila unlaced one glove slowly before speaking. “It wobbled.” Her voice stayed low enough that only I heard it.
I met her eyes.
Pain belonged to skating. Pain was background noise. You learned which injuries could be ignored, which ones needed tape, which ones required anti-inflammatories and silence.
Instability lived in a different category entirely.
Sokolov exhaled through his nose, his gaze sharpening as he studied my posture. “You rest this afternoon.”
“No.”
The refusal came too fast, too automatic.
Sokolov’s expression hardened. “You rest,” he repeated. “We need you stable, not heroic.”
Arguing further would only draw more attention, so I nodded, and we stepped off the ice.
Cold air tightened the joint almost immediately once the adrenaline faded. I tested my stride walking toward the tunnel, careful not to limp, careful not to glance toward the opposite side of the rink where Team USA trained.
Dean would notice.
That certainty sat under my skin now. Dean watched closely enough to spot flaws nobody else saw, and right then I could not survive being looked at that carefully.
I straightened my posture and kept walking.
By the time I reached the cafeteria an hour later, stiffness had settled deeper into the joint, not enough to stop me moving but enough to make every step feel overly deliberate. I carried a tray toward the far corner, already planning how quickly I could eat and leave without anyone attempting conversation.
“How bad is it?”
I jerked so hard I nearly spilled my drink.
Dean stood beside the table holding a water bottle, still dressed in training gear, damp hair curling slightly at the temples.
My first instinct was denial.
“I do not know what you are talking about.” I lowered my voice automatically while my eyes flicked toward the surrounding tables. “And this is probably not wise. People are already talking.”
His jaw tightened. “Then come to my room in five minutes.”
I blinked at him.
“I mean it, Luka. I saw the lift.”
“It is manageable.”
“Yeah?” His gaze dropped briefly toward my hip before returning to my face. “Because you looked about half a second away from your leg giving out.”
The bluntness caught me off guard.
Dean leaned one hand against the back of the empty chair opposite me, lowering his voice. “Please. Just let me help.”
