His laugh cuts deep. “Fine?Nyet. You’re a ghost. Too slow. Where’s my champion who made this blade dance?”
Four months, and the champion is gone.
The rich kid who fucked it all up.
The disappointment.
The unlovable one.
The saber feels wrong in my hand—heavy, foreign. I adjust my grip, searching for that sweet spot where it became part of me. My throat tightens.
Inhale.
Three hundred forty-two days until the new season. Three hundred forty-two chances to prove I’m still relevant.
“Yeah, fine. That means shut up and keep going, right?”
“Da. What else you have that’s more important?”
Nothing. Without fencing, I’m nobody. The movie set, parties, agitating Reese—all distractions. Only with a blade do I matter. Only here does my family see me as belonging among the Hastings.
Outside the piste? Different story. The Princeton crew only shows up for the Dom Pérignon. My contacts want Party Dante, not me.
My teammates ghosted me—afraid of USFA or SafeSport finding them with a suspended player. Only Linus sent ahang in theretext.
The fencing world turned its back. Nobody’s risking their career by associating with me. Where do I fit when they’re all living our old life—training, competing, being champions?
I try to bury it all, but my chest constricts.
Lev’s eyes narrow with pity. Worse. “Khorosho,” he says, raising his blade. “Advance-lunge drills. Show me your fire can do more than burn you.”
I nod and set my stance. The world fades as I grip my saber, my mind finally quieting.
It’s just me and my blade.
I lunge—step too short. Miss by inches.
“Fuck,” I mutter, resetting.
“Opyat,” Coach barks. Again.
I repeat until my quads scream.
“Too slow. It’s the drinking. People expect you back stronger next season. Can’t defend your title like this.”
“I’m not drinking that much,” I lie. Maybe that stops today. Smoking’s my only other vice now—no partying, no drugs, no bodies.
Lev’s eyebrows shoot up. “Vresh’ kak siziy merín,” he says.You’re lying like a gray gelding.
Whatever the fuck that means.
He lowers his blade, crossing his arms. “How many years I watch you grow in this gym?Khuligan.”
“Your point?”
“My point?” Lev growls, accent thickening. “You’re always chasing cameras, media, interviews. Your teammates? All timid, focused. But you need attention. An obsession, Dante. A dangerous one.”
“I’m the most handsome guy on the team. Can’t blame the media for wanting my picture.”
