Sabrina finishes her routine like she’s auditioning for a crown she already thinks she owns. Her jumps are sharp. Her spins are clean. Her smile is smug. And when her score flashes, almost perfect, the crowd erupts. My stomach twists. Daniels stands beside me, arms crossed, jaw tight. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches Sabrina glide off the ice like she’s floating on her own ego.
Then he turns to me.
“Don’t look at her,” he says quietly. “She’s not your competition. The ice is.” I nod, but relaxing is easier said than done. Because I know exactly what Sabrina will do if I don’t score as high as she did. She’ll smirk. She’ll brag. She’ll make sure everyone hears her. And I’ll have to pretend it doesn’t bother me. I take a slow breath, trying to steady myself.
Evan isn’t here
