“You are late.”
“I know.”
“You said mile ten.”
“The shuttle got blocked and the pedestrian crossing closed.”
“You could have messaged.”
The barrier pressed against my palm. Around us, cowbells and shouted names made the private failure feel impossible to contain.
“You’re running.”
“My phone is in the belt.”
“I know.”
“You could have—”
“I’m sorry.”
She stopped beside the barrier. The apology cut through the argument.
“I should have planned a backup meeting point.”
“That is my role.”
“You gave me one.”
“It failed.”
“The course failed.”
“Still.”
Dani looked at my face.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Truth?”
“I became anxious.”
Her mouth flattened.
“I’m sorry.”
“I managed it.”
Pride replaced fear.
“How?”
“Grounding.”
“Good.”
