TESSA.

“Lie face down. Arms at your sides. We start with the full evaluation.”

Dr. Rhys Kane’s voice carried across the open recovery suite like it belonged there. I climbed onto the padded table, the thin sheet the only thing covering me from the waist down. Cool air from the vents touched the backs of my thighs. Staff moved past the wide glass panels at irregular intervals. Another athlete’s laughter drifted from the next room over. I was Tessa Colton, twenty-four, professional sprinter whose minor hamstring tweak had already stolen two training days and threatened the qualifying window. My public image stayed carefully clean for the sponsors and the press....