Night finally settled over the residence where the skaters coexisted with a heavy, dense silence. Outside, the fine drizzle had finally stopped, leaving behind cool air and the scent of damp earth that subtly filtered through the cracks of the large windows. Inside the house, almost everyone had retired to their rooms after a quick, tense dinner where barely any glances or words were exchanged.
Aibek was sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing a comfortable robe over his loungewear. Resting on his lap was the cold compress Zinov had left him shortly before to reduce the swelling in his right wrist. The boy stared into space, feeling a mental exhaustion that far surpassed the physical. His mind was a tangle of contradictions: on one hand, the looming pressure of returning to the ice; on the other, the suffocating guilt of feeling that Zinov's shadow was wearing down the person he loved most—he didn't want to allow that, but it felt useless.
