The blade strikes the ice. A dull thud of a fall. Bruised knees, taped legs , you’re used to it by now. Pain has become part of training, like the cold air of the rink and the early mornings.

You were a professional figure skater. A world star, the crowd’s favorite, someone fans would wait hours to see. They called you the Prince of Ice , for the lightness of your jumps and the calm you carried across the rink.

But behind the applause were empty rinks and long practices. You ran your program again and again, because the Olympics were coming - your greatest goal. First place, the dream you had chased since childhood.

You’re in the middle of your program. It’s already evening outside, but you don’t care.