“The Director received communication from Montreal this morning.”
I should have anticipated that.
Mila stepped forward before I could stop her. “We meet the selection criteria?” Hope sharpened her voice despite the care she took trying to hide it.
Sokolov’s expression remained unreadable. “International training environments introduce unnecessary variables.”
I’d been deluded enough to expect congratulations, or perhaps excitement about the opportunity.
Of course Sokolov saw only risk.
I kept my face neutral. “Their lift specialists are among the best in the world.”
“Our technical standards remain more than sufficient domestically.”
I suspected that response had been prepared long before we opened the envelope.
Sokolov’s eyes settled on me next, cool and unwavering. “Consistency matters. Particularly regarding presentation and messaging.”
That last word landed exactly where he intended it to.
Mila heard it too. I saw the reaction flicker across her face before she buried it again.
“It is only six weeks.”
I marveled at her effort to keep the disappointment from her voice.
I didn’t trust myself to say anything else.
“And in those six weeks,” Sokolov replied, “you would be exposed to influences outside federation structure.”
He wasn’t talking about external choreography or even alternate coaching philosophies.
The implication sat there between us while nobody acknowledged it directly.
I couldn’t remain silent any longer.
I swallowed before speaking. “Many European teams train internationally.”
“And many European teams do not represent Velkarya. You aresymbols,” Sokolov continued. “Your partnership contributes directly to public trust in the federation. We do not make changes lightly.” He never reached for the envelope in my hand, but his gaze lingered on it with visible dismissal. “We appreciate the invitation,” he said. “We will decline.”
Mila inhaled sharply beside me. I kept still.
“This is not aligned with your current objectives,” Sokolov added while looking directly at me.
I knew what those were.
Win. Obey. Represent correctly.
I nodded because there was nothing else to do. “Understood.”
Officially, that should have ended the conversation.
The envelope remained in my hand. Sokolov noticed.
“That is not your focus,” he said in a calm tone. No trace of anger entered his voice, no hint of threat.
Which made the certainty in it far worse.
