“Dani.”
I could not turn.
“Name five things.”
I knew the exercise. Words did not come. The pharmacy sign blurred. The pavement moved. I bent forward with both hands on my thighs. Air in. Not enough. Air out. Too fast. Someone touched my back. I jerked away.
“No touch,” Rose said sharply.
The hand disappeared. Good. Consent remained even here.
“Dani, you are at mile twenty-two. You are safe. You are having a panic attack.”
The naming helped for half a second. Then shame followed. Everyone could see. Again. The same race. The same place. Nothing changed. I closed my eyes. Bad choice. The world disappeared completely. I opened them. Blue. A bright blue shape approaching through runners. Amy. No. My mind had created her because fear wanted rescue. Then she stopped several feet away.
Real. Sweat-dark hair. Face flushed from twenty-two miles. Gold star still attached to the back of her hand. She did not touch me. She did not say she was staying. She checked with Rose, who gave one small nod—medical acknowledgment, not transfer of responsibility—then faced me.
“Dani.”
Her voice reached. I tried to answer. Nothing. She moved into my line of sight but kept distance.
“Do you want me here?”
Her question cut through everything: choice, not assumption or rescue. I managed one small nod. Amy remained. No closer.
“What is your panic level?”
I held up seven fingers because speech remained difficult. She understood.
“Then the plan says stop.”
Pain moved through me sharper than panic. I shook my head. Amy did not argue.
“What does the plan say?”
I forced air.
“Stop.”
Stopbroke.
“Do you want to stop?”
No. Yes. I don’t know. The old answer. I gripped my thighs.
“I can’t.”
“Cannot stop or cannot continue?”
The distinction widened the world slightly.
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
She accepted it. No demand. No urgency beyond safety. The medical captain spoke from behind Rose.
“Dani, you are not cleared to continue while the panic remains seven.”
