Chapter 224

Chapter 224
Lynette's POV

I shoved through the crowd like they were made of paper.

Someone elbowed me. I didn't care. Someone yelled something about manners. I ignored it.

If something went wrong... if she had an accident in the pool...

Sophia's voice kept looping in my head. That wasn't a joke. That was a fucking threat.

My hands were shaking. Not from fear. From rage.

I reached the pool area and pushed through the door marked "STAFF ONLY."

The backstage changing room was chaos.

Girls clustered around the benches, voices overlapping in panic. The swim coach—Miss Porter, according to the name tag—had her phone pressed to her ear, face pale as death.

"Yes, Principal Davis, I understand the situation is serious—"

Then I saw her.

Elara.

She was sitting on a bench near the lockers, already in her black swimsuit, but her right ankle was swollen to twice its normal size. The skin around it was an angry purple-red.

My vision tunneled.

I crossed the room in three strides and dropped to one knee in front of her.

"What happened?" My voice came out flat. Cold.

Elara's eyes went wide. "Lynette? What are you—"

"What. Happened."

She flinched at my tone. Then her face crumpled. "I... I slipped on the stairs. It was stupid, I wasn't paying attention—"

"Bullshit."

I grabbed her ankle—gently, but firm enough to examine it. The joint was hot to the touch. Swelling consistent with a sudden twist, not a gradual slip. And the angle of the bruising...

Someone had grabbed her foot and yanked it sideways.

I looked up at Elara. Her eyes were wet, but she wasn't crying. She was holding it together. Barely.

"Who did this?" I asked quietly.

"I told you, I slipped—"

"Elara." I tightened my grip on her ankle. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make her focus. "Don't lie to me."

Her breath hitched. "I don't... I didn't see who—"

A small voice piped up from behind me. "Someone bumped into her."

I turned.

One of the younger swimmers—couldn't have been older than sixteen—was standing there, hands twisted in front of her. She looked terrified.

"What did you say?" I asked.

The girl swallowed hard. "When Elara was coming down the stairs, someone... someone bumped into her from behind. Hard. That's when she fell."

"Did you see who?"

The girl shook her head quickly. Too quickly. "No, I—there were a lot of people—"

Liar.

But I didn't push. The fear in her eyes told me everything I needed to know. Whoever had done this had made sure there were no witnesses willing to talk.

I stood up and looked around the room.

The other swimmers were avoiding my gaze. Miss Porter was still on the phone, but her voice had gone high and panicked. Through the doorway, I could see the edge of the pool, the crowd in the bleachers beyond.

And standing just outside the door, half-hidden by the wall, was Sophia.

Our eyes met.

Her face went white. Then she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

My hands curled into fists.

I wanted to go after her. Wanted to drag her back here by her hair and make her confess in front of everyone.

But Elara was still sitting on the bench, hurt and scared, and there were three minutes left before the performance was supposed to start.

Priorities.

I forced my hands to unclench and turned back to Miss Porter. She'd just hung up the phone and was staring at Elara's ankle like it was a bomb about to go off.

"This is a disaster," she muttered. "The principal is going to kill me. The board members are all here, the parents—"

One of the older swimmers stepped forward. "Miss Porter, maybe we can cancel—"

"We can't cancel!" Miss Porter's voice cracked. "This is the Winter Showcase. The school's reputation is on the line. If we cancel now—"

"Then someone else needs to perform," I said.

Everyone turned to look at me.

Miss Porter blinked. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Elara's sister." I kept my voice level. "And I can do it."

The room went silent.

Then everyone started talking at once.

"Are you serious?"

"She's not even on the team—"

"Does she even know how to swim?"

Miss Porter held up a hand. The noise died down. She looked at me with a mixture of desperation and suspicion.

"You've done synchronized swimming before?" she asked carefully.

"No," I admitted. "But I've watched Elara practice at home. A lot. And I'm a strong swimmer."

That was an understatement. In my past life, I'd hunted in frozen lakes where the water temperature hovered just above freezing. I'd held my breath underwater for over five minutes while tracking prey. Compared to that, a three-minute routine in a heated pool was nothing.

But I couldn't exactly say that.

Miss Porter looked at her watch. Her hand was shaking. "We have two minutes before we're supposed to start."

"Then we don't have time to argue," I said. "Either I go out there, or you cancel. Your choice."

Miss Porter's jaw worked. She looked at Elara, then back at me.

"You understand this is incredibly risky?" she said. "If you make a mistake out there—if you get hurt—"

"I won't."

"You can't guarantee that—"

"I can." I met her eyes. Let her see the certainty there. "Trust me."

Something in my tone must have convinced her. Or maybe she was just out of options.

She exhaled sharply. "Fine. But if you feel like you can't do a move, skip it. Safety first. Understood?"

I nodded.

Miss Porter turned to one of the other swimmers. "Get her a spare suit. Now."

The girl scrambled to one of the lockers and pulled out a black one-piece. She tossed it to me.

I caught it and headed for the changing stall.

Behind me, I heard Elara's voice, small and worried. "Lynette, are you sure—"

I looked back at her. "I'm sure."

Then I stepped into the stall and pulled the curtain shut.

---

The suit was tight. Good. I needed the compression. Needed to feel my muscles ready to move.

I looked at myself in the small mirror hanging on the wall.

Black swimsuit. Wet hair slicked back. Body lean and strong—not the fragile Omega frame Elara had, but the build of a predator.

In the North, I'd been bigger. Taller. More muscle mass. But this body was mine now, and I'd trained it hard over the past few months. It was ready.

I closed my eyes and pulled up the memory of Elara's practices.

She'd done this routine dozens of times in our backyard pool. I'd watched from the kitchen window, memorizing every move even though I'd told myself I didn't care.

Opening: back flip entry into the water.

Middle: underwater spin, three rotations, surface with arms extended.

Climax: vertical leg lift, hold for five seconds.

Finish: continuous barrel rolls, exit with a flourish.

Simple enough.

I opened my eyes.

Don't fuck this up, I told myself.

Then I stepped out of the stall.

---

Miss Porter was waiting by the door. When she saw me, her eyes widened slightly.

"You look... different," she said.

I didn't respond. Just walked past her toward the pool.

The other swimmers parted to let me through. I could feel their eyes on me—nervous, curious, skeptical.

Elara was still on the bench. She tried to stand, but her ankle buckled. One of the girls caught her.

"Lynette—" she started.

I stopped and looked back at her. "I've got this."

She bit her lip. Then nodded.

I kept walking.

The pool area was bright. Too bright. The overhead lights reflected off the water, turning it into a sheet of blinding white. Beyond the pool, the bleachers were packed. Hundreds of faces staring down.

I could hear the murmur of the crowd. Confusion. Whispers.

"That's not Elara—"

"Who is that?"

"Did they switch swimmers?"

I ignored them.

Miss Porter appeared at my side, clipboard in hand. Her voice was low and urgent.

"Okay, listen. The music is three minutes long. Five core moves. Opening back flip, underwater spin, vertical leg lift, barrel rolls, and the exit flourish. You remember?"

"I remember."

"If you can't do something, skip it. Don't try to be a hero—"

"I won't."

She looked at me for a long moment. Then she sighed. "Alright. Good luck."

She stepped back.

The announcer's voice crackled over the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the Synchronized Swimming Team!"

The crowd applauded. Polite, expectant.

The music started.

Soft piano notes. Building slowly.

I walked to the edge of the pool and looked down at the water.

Clear. Still. Waiting.

My muscles coiled.

The piano swelled into strings.

I took a breath.

Then I launched myself backward into the air.