Chapter 206

Chapter 206
Elora

Each footstep was measured, unhurried. She wasn't rushing anymore. She was savoring this—the fear, the helplessness, the knowledge that her prey had nowhere left to run.

I could almost see it. My death. Dad's death after mine. Cade finding our bodies—

No. No, no, no.

Panic clawed at my chest, threatening to drag me under. The darkness felt alive now, pressing in from all sides, wrapping around my throat like a noose. Why couldn't I sense her? Why was I so fucking useless without light? Why did the absence of something as simple as visibility turn me into a helpless, cowering victim?

Why—

And then, through the chaos in my mind, an image surfaced.

Not a memory exactly. More like a vision—sharp and impossibly clear despite the darkness surrounding me.

A girl. Young. Moving across ice that gleamed like black glass under a moonless sky. No lights. No audience. Just her and the ice and the darkness that should have been terrifying but somehow... wasn't.

She moved with impossible grace, each movement flowing into the next like water, like breathing. A spin—perfect, controlled, her body knowing exactly where it was in space without needing to see. A jump—launching into nothing, trusting the darkness to catch her, and landing with the kind of precision that came from somewhere deeper than sight.

Beautiful. Confident. Fearless.

Someone who didn't just survive in darkness—she owned it.

The girl's face turned toward me in that vision, and my breath caught.

It was me.

That was me.

The memory crashed over me then, real and solid.

---

"I'm done for today."

I'd barely been on the ice for five minutes, but I couldn't focus. Mom had been dead for three weeks, and the psoriasis had exploded across my back like it was punishing me for still being alive. Red, scaly patches spreading further every morning. The lights overhead felt too bright, too exposing. Every time I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the rink's glass barriers, all I could see was those marks—visible even through my practice clothes.

"Elora." Marina's voice cut through my spiral, sharp and cold in a way I'd never heard from her before. Not disappointed. Colder than that. "Do you honestly believe running away will solve anything?"

I froze mid-step, my skates scraping against the ice.

"Do you have any concept of how long it took to get you to this level?" Her words came measured, precise—each one landing like a blade. "I've watched dozens of talented skaters walk away because they lost their nerve. I've seen girls with Olympic potential destroy themselves over a single setback. Is that who you want to be, Elora? Another wasted opportunity? Another name I forget in five years?"

My throat closed up. "I—"

"If you step off this ice right now," Marina said, her eyes boring into mine with an intensity that made me want to look away, "don't waste my time coming back. I have a waiting list of skaters who would kill for your spot. Skaters who actually have the spine to show up when things get difficult."

Panic shot through me, cold and sharp. "No! No, I'm not—I'm not like that. I'm not running away. I'll practice. I swear, I'll—"

"Then stop talking." Her voice dropped to something quieter, more dangerous. "And prove it."

Before I could respond, she walked to the control panel and flipped a switch. The overhead lights died instantly, plunging the entire rink into absolute darkness.

I gasped, my heart slamming into my throat. "What—what are you doing?"

"Edge work requires proprioception," Marina's voice echoed from somewhere near the exit, clinical and matter-of-fact. "Spatial awareness independent of visual input. You need to feel the ice, not see it. Your body needs to know where it is in three-dimensional space without relying on your eyes."

I stood frozen, my breath coming too fast. "I don't understand—"

"You want to stop thinking about your back?" Her voice cut through my panic. "You want to stop seeing yourself in every reflection, every mirror, every piece of glass? Then skate in the dark, Elora."

Silence. Just my ragged breathing and the hum of the building's ventilation.

"Sometimes," Marina continued, her tone shifting to something quieter, "the darkness shows you what light can't. When you stop seeing, you start feeling. Really feeling—your edges, your balance, your body. Everything you've been too distracted to notice."

A pause.

"In the dark, Elora, you finally meet yourself."

I opened my mouth—not to argue, but because something in her words had clicked into place, made a strange kind of sense I couldn't quite articulate yet—

Her footsteps faded. The door clicked shut.

And I was alone.

The silence that followed was absolute.

At first, I couldn't move. Terror locked my muscles in place as the blackness pressed in from all sides. But slowly—so slowly—I forced myself to take a step. Then another. My skates scraped uncertainly across the ice, my arms flailing for balance.

I fell. Hard. The cold bit into my palms as I pushed myself back up.

Again. And again. And again.