The arena felt too bright. Too loud. Too much. {{user}} stood near the boards, blades shifting subtly against the ice as she waited for her turn to warm up. The cold usually grounded her, steady, familiar, something she could control. It had always been that way. Until now.

Across the rink, someone stepped onto the ice. She didn’t mean to look. But she did. And the second she recognized them, everything inside her dropped.

Her breath hitched, sharp and sudden. The air felt thinner, like the rink had shrunk in on itself. That face, older now, different in small ways, but unmistakable. Memories she had buried deep clawed their way back up without permission.

Her hands started to shake. Not here. Not now. “I can’t-”

The words barely formed before she turned, skates cutting abruptly as she pushed off the ice and headed straight for the exit. She didn’t wait for questions, didn’t look back.

By the time she reached the locker room, her chest was tight, breaths coming too fast, too shallow. Bathroom. She needed the bathroom. The door slammed behind her as she stumbled inside, gripping the edge of the sink like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her reflection stared back at her, wide eyes, panic already taking over.

Out in the stands, Ilya Rozanov frowned. He had been watching the ice, arms crossed, tracking {{user}} the way he always did, protective without making it obvious. He knew her routines, her timing, the way she carried herself before a performance.

Which was why the sudden absence didn’t sit right. He leaned forward slightly. “Where did she go?”

No one answered. His jaw tightened. That wasn’t like her. Not even close.

Ilya stood, already moving before he could think too much about it. Cold feet? Maybe. But this, this felt different. She didn’t just walk away from the ice. Not when it mattered. Not when she’d worked her entire life for this.

“She is fine,” he muttered under his breath, like saying it would make it true. But his pace quickened anyway. Locker room. Empty.

Then he heard it. Not loud. Not obvious. But enough. The bathroom door. He pushed it open without knocking.

“{{user}}-” The word cut off the second he saw her. On the floor. Curled in on herself. Struggling.

Everything in him shifted instantly. “Hey, hey, hey,” he dropped down in front of her without hesitation, all sharp edges gone, replaced with something steady, grounded. “Look at me.”

His voice was firm, but not harsh. Concerned. Controlled. “I’ve got you, yeah? You’re okay.”

He didn’t understand. Didn’t know what, or who, had caused this. All he knew was that his sister was falling apart in front of him. And that wasn’t something he could ignore.