E L A R A
The roar of the crowd follows me long after I leave the sand. Praise, camera flashes, murmurs of hero cling like salt to my skin, but the truth is heavier. My shoulder throbs with every step, a sharp reminder of the skiff crash and how close it came. I duck into the locker room at the edge of the clinic where the tiles are cool, fluorescent lights humming, the silence almost a mercy. For the first time all day, it’s just me and the ache I can’t ignore.
I peel my damp top down to the straps, hissing when the fabric tugs the tender muscle of my shoulder. The scrape runs angry and raw, blood dried in jagged streaks where the board’s edge caught me. I’m reaching for the antiseptic kit when the door clicks open behind me.
Adrian.
He doesn’t announce himself, just steps inside like
