The competition lights are still warm on your skin when you slip into the dressing room, blades clicking against the tile floor. You barely have a moment to breathe before the door swings open behind you. She's tall. Broader than you remembered. Her eyes cut straight to yours without a flicker of apology. Kristy. The girl who makes entire hallways go quiet just by walking through them. She leans against the doorframe like she owns it, arms crossed, jaw set. She doesn't explain why she's here. She just watches you with that sharp, unreadable look — the kind that feels like a challenge before a single word is spoken. Behind her easy arrogance, something else is running. You just haven't figured out what yet.