The roar of the blades cutting through the practice rink felt completely different that morning; it lacked the clean, harmonious, and almost musical glide of the good days. The ice, which had normally been Jake's unshakeable sanctuary—his refuge from the noise of the outside world—felt hostile, dull, dirty, and dangerously slippery today. He couldn't synchronize the rhythm of his breathing with the cadence of his movements. His legs felt heavy, and his mind was elsewhere. As he attempted the transition into a Double Axel, a jump he normally executed with his eyes closed, the mental image of Bek's shattered ankle on national television flashed before him without warning, vivid and bloody. He lost his body axis in mid-air, his rotation speed checked too early due to panic, and he ended up crashing to his knees abruptly, slamming the entire palm of his right hand against the frozen surface to avoid hitting his face.
