The envelope, the scale, the call

Carly saw my face before I said anything. That part I didn't like. Seven a.m. in the corridor, Lou holding that thing out like a test, and I could feel my jaw locking before I'd even finished reading the first line. The muscle jumped. I felt it. Carly said breathe. I said yeah. What I wanted to say was get this away from me, but that's not how it works when someone's trying to catch you with a clause buried in a demand.

I passed. 69.4. The corner was sealed. Jules had the banner up and Danny had the feed running before I got there, and Voss walked past like I was furniture. Briggs at the back of the room. I felt him but I didn't look. I was good at that once — the not-looking. Swimming taught me that. You swim your race and you don't check the lane next to yours until it's over.

Dr Reyes's message is still on my phone. I haven't opened it fully. I read enough to know she wants to talk about imaging results and I can't do that before Saturday so I'm carrying it the way you carry a sprain — aware of it with every step but pretending the limp isn't there.

Zoe asked about the shoulder tonight. I gave her the version I give everyone — it's tracking, Jules is managing it. She didn't push. That's the thing with Zoe. She knows when I'm sealed and she lets me be sealed. I almost told her about the envelope. Almost said someone tried to rattle me this morning and I almost let them. But you don't say that out loud. You just get to the gym and hit things until the math clears.

The pull-counter. I've been running it in my head since I woke up. That's the one. That's the one I want.