“I do not need?—”
“You do.” Her tone told me not to push further.
I followed her off the ice in silence.
Sokolov remained farther down the boards, speaking with an official, although I caught him watching us briefly before deliberately looking away again.
Even that felt intentional now.
Mila sat beside me on the bench while I unlaced my right skate to ease pressure across my ankle.
“What happened?”
I kept my gaze lowered. “Nothing.”
“That answer is insulting after eight years.” Mila leaned back against the wall behind the bench, arms folded. “You are hesitating again.”
The words cut straight through me because I knew she wasn’t referring to the technicalities of my performance.
“I am fine.”
“No.” The word came out with a firmness that meant there was more to come. “You are controlled. That is different.”
I stared at my hands.
Long seconds of silence.
“Did they speak to you?” I raised my chin at that, and she blinked. “Ah.”
“They called me in again yesterday.”
Mila’s expression hardened. “Who?”
“Vasiliev. Sokolov. Someone from media oversight.”
“And you are only telling me thisnow?” Her jaw tightened. “What did they say?”
“They said I was seen.” The bitterness in my quiet laughter startled me.
Mila closed her eyes. “Luka…”
“They told me this ends.” I swallowed hard. “That Foster is becoming a… distraction.”
The word sounded filthy now, as though Dean were an obstacle instead of the first honest thing that had happened to me in years.
Mila studied me. “And?”
I knew she was not asking what the federation wanted.
I looked away toward the ice where another team practiced lifts, their coach nodded encouragingly.
“I went to his room.”
“Oh.”
I pressed fingers to my temples before dragging my fingers through my hair.
“I told him we should stop.”
