Page 2 of Citius

“Also representing the United States, Grace Arata!” She bounded onto the stage and waved, her megawatt smile shining brighter than all her glitter and rhinestones combined.

A security officer followed us across the dimly lit arena floor to the athlete seating area in front of the vault, where we removed our shoes and warm-up gear. When the arena lights returned to full brightness, the announcer called the first group of competitors. I followed Bianca up the short stairs to the competition platform. Grace and a powerhouse vaulterfrom South Korea followed.

The Italian coach adjusted the springboard and safety pads while we checked our wrist guards and chalked up. Warm-ups only lasted a few minutes, so Bianca quickly took her first practice vault.

She launched off the springboard with sufficient speed, but her hands connected with the vault at an odd angle, which upset her balance and ruined her momentum—landing on her knees, out of bounds. The crowd murmured with concern. Bianca stared at the mat until her coach took her by the elbow and guided her to the side.

Coach Hager, my longtime mentor, got to work. Despite the gray streaks in her cropped black curls, she was still as trim and powerful as when she competed as an elite omega gymnast two decades earlier. I tried to watch her adjustments, but Bianca kept pulling focus.

She exchanged rapid words with her coach, gesturing angrily at the vault—as if she wanted to pound it into the ground.

What a weird reaction.

Grace and I exchanged a worried glance. Taking a nasty fall during a practice vault would rattle anyone. Bianca had almost no time to regroup.

Coach Hager signaled that everything was ready and moved to the side. A pulse of pure adrenaline shot through me.

Time to fly.

Centering myself at the end of the runway, I took a deep breath, vault mechanics flashing through my head. My twisting spiral of a vault was far more difficult than Bianca had just attempted. And it happened to be my favorite.

I shot forward, arms pumping as I tore down the runway. Nearing the vault, I lunged forward, my torso rotating and legs swinging overhead. My back faced the vault as I landed on the springboard, which propelled me into a powerful rebound.

Despite being half-turned as I shot over the vault, unable to see what was coming, I had a clear mental map of my position in the air. In the next millisecond, my left hand would connect with the vault, becoming a fulcrum for the rest of my body.

Both hands needed to make contact before I pushed off. Just connect and—

The contact came half a heartbeattoo soon.

Bianca’s gesture made sudden, terrifying sense. The vault height was wrong.

My left hand skidded across the suede covering. I couldn’t get my hips over my shoulders. My legs whipped forward at full force, wildly off-balance. Any semblance of control was gone.

Time slowed, leaving me suspended mid-air, mind racing. I couldn’t panic, I couldn’t. Not if I wanted to land safely.

Imustland safely.

Tilted sideways and disoriented, I fought to maintain proper form, even as I plummeted toward the ground at a ruinous speed. My legs only needed to go a little further, just a little more—

I landed on my neck.

My limp body hit the mat with a sickening thud—an unchecked force that rattled every joint, leaving my arms and legs splayed at unnatural angles.

Someone screamed. No, not someone. Grace.

A mix of sour blackberries and brittle herbs singed the tip of my tongue. Coach Hager. She knelt beside me in silent terror. That was the only word for it. Never in all her years as my coach had I experienced her pheromones like this. Wretched. Almost inconsolable.

The oppressive silence of the crowd weighed on my chest. I gasped for air, unable to catch my breath or come to terms with what just happened.

No, this wasn’t right. The warm-up wasn’t over. Grace was waiting for me. We were going to share the podium. I had to defend my title. It was impossible to accept going down without a fight. I refused to surrender.

Get up.

My shoulder twitched, trying to follow through, but I couldn’t. It hurt too much to move.

Suffocating beneath a tangled mess of delirious thoughts, my conscious mind struggled to hold on. My vision blurred. Touches like pinpricks drifted across my shoulders and arms, trying to communicate with me, to help me. Sounds tumbled around my head, but I couldn’t decipher the words.

I couldn’t smell Coach Hager anymore. Had she left? No, she’d never leave me. Never abandon me like this.

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