Page 206 of Red Zone

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That familiar tingle.

It starts in my toes. Subtle. Almost ignorable.

But it spreads quickly, crawling up the arches of my feet, into my calves like slow, fizzing static.

My chest tightens.

I keep talking. I smile. I finish my slides.

I make it off the stage.

Barely.

The second I hit the floor, I start scanning for my dad.

He’s near the corner of the room, standing with a few alumni, holding a glass of water in his hand.

I cut through the crowd without thinking, the tingling growing sharper now—numbness mingling with pins and needles.

“Dad.”

He turns, eyebrows lifting when he sees my face.

“I need to go home,” I whisper, trying to keep my expression neutral, trying to stay composed. “Now.”

His eyes widen a fraction. He sees it immediately—whatever I’m trying to hide.

He doesn’t ask questions.

Just sets his glass down and moves fast, placing a hand firmly on my lower back as he guides me toward the exit with calm, quiet urgency.

“Okay. We’ll take the side door,” he murmurs. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

I nod stiffly, but my throat’s starting to tighten now, too, the early signs of my body slipping into fight-or-freeze.

The static in my legs is buzzing. My balance is slipping.

My dad knows.

He keeps his hand steady, his voice low and even.

“We’re almost there, sweetheart. Just a few more steps.”

But in my head, everything’s already starting to go sideways.

Because no matter how hard I fight it?—

My body is shutting down.

And this time…it’s happening in front of everyone.

We’re halfway through the lobby when my feet stop obeying me.

It starts as a hitch in my step, a drag of my right foot that I can’t correct no matter how hard I will it.

Then my knees buckle.

“Dad—” I gasp, clutching at his arm.

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