The ice knows me better than any person ever has.

I glide across the rink in the pre-dawn quiet, my blades cutting clean edges into the fresh surface. No music yet. No coaches. No one to perform for. Just me and the ice and the silence that feels more like home than any house I've lived in.

Triple axel. Land. Transition into a layback spin. The cold air brushes my cheeks as I rotate, and for a moment, just a moment, I'm not the Ice Queen or the Russian prodigy or my mother's greatest achievement.

I'm just motion.

"Volkov."

The voice shatters my peace. I stop mid-spiral, ice spray settling around my blades.

Coach Viktor stands at the boards, and he's not alone.

The man beside him is tall, dark-haired, built like a pairs skater, broad shoulders, built for catching someone mid-air. Italian, judging by his features. I recognize him immediately.

Alessio Marchetti. Two-time World bronze medalist in pairs. Olympic hopeful. Recently partnerless after his longtime collaborator married and retired.

"Viktor, what have you done?" I ask, gliding toward them.

"Your new partnership," Viktor says.

"I don't do pairs."

"You do now."

I stop at the boards, my breath coming in controlled puffs. The cold doesn't bother me, it never has. But Marchetti watching me with open curiosity makes something uncomfortable prickle along my spine.

"The federation called," Viktor continues. "Your funding is contingent on competing in the pairs discipline this season. The Italian federation has agreed to a joint arrangement with Marchetti. You'll train together. You'll compete at Worlds under the Italian flag."

"I'm a singles skater."

"You were a pairs skater before. Junior nationals, 2018."

"That was seven years ago. My partner dropped me. Literally." I keep my voice flat. "I don't trust anyone to catch me."

"Then learn." Viktor's tone brooks no argument. "Marchetti needs a partner with your technical skill. You need funding. This is the deal."

Alessio hasn't spoken yet. He's just watching me, like he's trying to read something I've kept hidden my whole life.

"Shall we try?" he says. His voice carries a Roman lilt. Infuriating.

"No."

"Just a death spiral. Basic contact. See if we're compatible."

"I already know we're not compatible."

"How?"

"Because I'm not compatible with anyone."

He smiles, not the media-perfect version I've seen in interviews, but something lopsided and genuine. It transforms his entire face.

"That's what my last partner said. We won bronze at Worlds."

"And then she retired."

"She fell in love. With someone who wasn't me." His smile doesn't waver. "I'm told that happens sometimes."

I don't have a response to that.

Viktor gestures impatiently. "Get on the ice, Marchetti. Let me see what we're working with."

Alessio pulls on his gloves and steps onto the rink. His strokes are confident, easy, the movement of someone who's spent his whole life here. He circles toward me, closing the distance I've carefully maintained.

"Death spiral," he says. "I'll hold. You lean."

"I know what a death spiral is."

"Then you know I need your hand."

He reaches for me.

I step back before I can think about it.

"Don't touch me."

"It's pairs skating." His voice is patient, but I can see the frustration building behind his eyes. "I have to touch you."

"Then this isn't going to work."

We stand there, an arm's length apart, while the ice waits beneath us. He radiates the kind of easy openness I've spent years training out of myself.

Every instinct I have rejects it.

"One try," Viktor calls from the boards. "Just one."

Alessio holds out his hand again. Palm up. Waiting.

"I won't drop you," he says quietly. "I've never dropped anyone."

"Everyone drops everyone eventually."

"That's a bleak worldview."

"That's experience."

His hand stays extended. Patient. Irritatingly patient.

"One death spiral," he says. "If you hate it, we can tell the federation no. I'll find another partner. You'll find other funding."

We both know that's not true. Partners at this level don't grow on trees. And funding, well. Without the federation's support, my career ends. Maybe not immediately, but soon.

I've given everything to this sport. My childhood. My relationships. My ability to feel anything beyond the ice.

I'm not ready to let it end.

I take his hand.

His grip is dry and sure. I hate how steady it feels.

"Position," he says, skating backward, pulling me gently forward. "Lean into it. I've got you."

I let my body drop, my free leg extending behind me as I spiral toward the ice. His grip tightens, compensating for my weight, and for a moment,

For a moment, gravity releases me.

Then I see how close the ice is. How far I'd fall if he let go. My life literally in someone else's hands.

I yank myself upright so fast I almost crash into him.

"That's enough."

"We barely started..."

"I said enough."

I skate to the boards without looking back. My fingers won't stay still, and I hate that too. I don't tremble. I don't waver. I'm the Ice Queen, cold and perfect and untouchable.

But for one second, in his grip, I felt something crack.

"Volkov," Viktor says.

"I need time."

"The federation..."

"I need time. One day. Let me think."

He sighs but nods. "Tomorrow. Same time. And bring a better attitude."

I grab my guards and step off the ice. Alessio is still in the center of the rink. His face had gone still in a way that could mean anything.

"Tomorrow," he calls.

I don't answer.

I just walk away, aware of him watching, the way you're aware of a match struck in a dark room.

One day to decide.

One day to figure out if I can trust someone who looks at me like he already knows what I'm hiding.

One day to save my career, or end it.

The cold comfort of solitude has never felt so fragile.