Elias runs his thumb once across her knuckles, slow and unhurried, and she feels it all the way up her arm.
"Feet parallel," he says, adjusting her stance with his free hand at her elbow. "Knees soft—like you're about to sit down."
His palm is steady and warm through her sleeve. "There. Now try to glide forward. I'll let go gradually."
Mia moves with the careful deliberation of someone treating each centimeter of ice as a negotiation. If the surface weren't frozen solid, she would absolutely try to dig the blades in.
She is committed to not falling. She is extremely committed.
It works, slowly. The increments grow. She finds something approaching rhythm.
Elias reads the moment correctly and eases his grip—not releasing, just hovering, hands close enough to catch.
Then she gets confi
