Has someone seen something?
My pulse started climbing.
I locked my phone and then unlocked it again, as though the message might somehow change if I looked twice.
I don’t know why, but in that moment I needed Dean—or perhaps some instinct told me I would need him when this was over.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I opened our messages.
Can I see you?
The text looked inadequate the moment I sent it. A few seconds later, I added a single word.
Please.
The reply arrived almost instantly.
Of course. What happened?
My fingers shook as I typed.
I do not want to discuss it here.
I pocketed my phone.
Time to go.
My pulse remained steady as I walked back beneath the arena through the same lower corridors I had already begun associating with dread. The air was alive with Olympic momentum and adrenaline.
I felt separated from all of it now, as though I were already moving inside a different reality from everyone else.
The room waiting for me this time was smaller. There was no folding table, no attempt at comfort.
Director Vasiliev stood near the far wall speaking quietly withanother federation representative I recognized vaguely from media management. Sokolov remained seated, his expression unreadable as always.
All three men looked at me when I entered.
No one smiled.
The last fragile piece of hope I had carried into the room vanished.
The door shut behind me with a soft click, and Vasiliev gestured toward the chair opposite them. “Sit.”
I obeyed, trying not to let my rising panic show. The silence stretched long enough that I became aware of the hum of the fluorescent lighting overhead.
Then the media representative spoke.
“You were seen.”
I tightened my jaw. “Seen doing what?”
The man tilted his head. “You tell us.”
A trap, simple but effective.
I kept my breathing steady. “I’ve done nothing inappropriate.”
Technically true. My pulse spiked anyway. The fact that I had to qualify it in my own head did not feel encouraging.
