Mira's POV
The ice was so cold beneath my skates that I could feel it through my boots. My heart hammered in my chest like a drum as Damien grabbed my hand.
"Ready?" he whispered.
I nodded, even though my stomach felt like it was doing backflips.
We pushed off together, skating faster and faster around the rink. The crowd at Nationals disappeared. The bright lights faded away. It was just me and Damien, the way it had been for the past eight years.
This was it. Our throw quad. The hardest move in figure skating. Only three teams in the whole world could land it. And if we nailed it today, we'd make the Olympic team for sure.
Coach Maria stood at the edge of the rink, her arms crossed. She gave us a tiny thumbs up. That was huge for Coach. She never smiled. She never said "good job." A thumbs up meant we were perfect.
Damien squeezed my hand three times. Our secret signal. It meant "trust me."
I always trusted Damien. He was my best friend since we were seven years old. We learned to skate together. We fell together. We got back up together.
"Now!" Damien shouted.
He grabbed my waist and threw me into the air.
I was flying.
Four rotations. I needed to spin four complete times before landing. I tucked my arms in tight and spun. Once. Twice. Three times.
This was the moment we'd practiced ten thousand times. The moment that would change our lives forever.
Four!
I spotted the ice below me. My right leg extended, ready to land.
And then I saw it.
Damien wasn't where he was supposed to be.
He was clutching his knee, crumpling to the ice.
Time moved in slow motion. I was still spinning, still falling, but now there was no one to help me land. No one to catch me if I fell wrong.
I hit the ice hard. My hip slammed down first, then my shoulder. Pain shot through my body like electricity.
The crowd gasped. It sounded like a wave crashing.
I slid across the ice and stopped. For a second, I just lay there, trying to breathe. Everything hurt, but that wasn't what scared me.
Damien.
I pushed myself up, ignoring the sharp pain in my hip. Damien was still on the ice, holding his knee. His face was white. Not pale. WHITE. Like all the blood had drained out of him.
"Damien!" I scrambled toward him on my hands and knees.
Coach Maria was already there, kneeling beside him. Two medics ran onto the ice.
"Don't move it," one medic said, gently touching Damien's leg. "We need to get you to the hospital."
"No." Damien's voice cracked. Tears streamed down his face. "No, no, no. We have to finish. We have to—"
"Damien, stop." Coach Maria's voice was firm but soft. "It's over."
Over.
That word hit me harder than the ice.
Eight years of training. Eight years of waking up at five in the morning. Eight years of bruises and bloody toes and missing birthday parties and school dances. Eight years of dreaming about the Olympics.
Over.
"I'm sorry." Damien looked at me, and I'd never seen him cry before. Not when he broke his wrist at regionals. Not when we came in fourth place last year. Never. "Mira, I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault," I said, but my voice sounded strange. Far away.
The medics brought a stretcher onto the ice. They lifted Damien onto it carefully. He kept apologizing, kept crying, kept saying it wasn't supposed to happen like this.
I wanted to cry too. But I couldn't. I just felt... empty.
Coach Maria put her hand on my shoulder. "Are you hurt?"
Was I? My hip throbbed. My shoulder ached. But that wasn't the kind of hurt she meant.
"I'm fine," I lied.
She studied my face. Coach could always tell when I was lying. "We'll talk later. Go with Damien to the hospital."
I nodded and followed the medics off the ice. My skates clicked on the rubber mat. Behind me, I heard the announcer's voice: "Let's give a round of applause for Mira Chen and Damien Rodriguez."
The applause was wrong. It was the kind you give when something terrible happens and you don't know what else to do.
In the hallway, away from the lights and cameras, I finally let myself look at the scoreboard on my phone. We needed to place in the top two to make the Olympic team.
We didn't even finish.
My phone buzzed. A text from my mom: Are you okay? We saw what happened.
Before I could answer, another text came through. But this one wasn't from Mom.
It was from an unknown number.
I know what really happened to Damien. Meet me at the parking lot. Section C. Come alone. Don't tell anyone. Your Olympic dream isn't over yet.
My hands started shaking.
What did that mean? What really happened? It was an accident. Wasn't it?
I looked down the hall. The medics were loading Damien into an ambulance. Coach was talking to officials. Everyone was distracted.
Section C was just outside. I could go for one minute. Just to see who sent the message.
I shouldn't go alone.
But what if they were telling the truth? What if there was still a chance?
I looked at the message again. My finger hovered over the delete button.
Then I started walking toward the parking lot.