DOWN

The notice went up on Monday morning.

By the time Riley got to the cafeteria it was all anyone was talking about.

Inter-academy trials. Four schools. One selection panel. Top performers flagged for regional scouting. The Falcons were expected to dominate — they always were — but this year the Eagles had a new coach and a new roster pulled from three different countries, and that was the part nobody could stop talking about.

"Last year they knocked two of our guys out of regional consideration," Marcus said, dropping his tray across from her. "Two. And that was before the new coach. Carter was in a bad mood for a week straight."

"When are the trials?" Riley asked.

"Three weeks." Marcus pointed his fork at her. "Double sessions between now and then. Last year one guy actually cried on the field."

"What did Jax do?"

"Kept going. Did not even look at him." Marcus shook his head. "Not human, Ryan. I say this with complete respect."

Jax sat down without asking. Tray down, expression flat.

"You saw the notice," Marcus said.

"Everyone saw the notice," Jax said.

He did not say anything else. He picked up his fork and ate and looked at nothing in particular, which with Jax meant he was thinking about something he had no intention of sharing.

Then his phone lit up on the table.

Dad calling.

Riley noticed because she was sitting across from him. Marcus noticed because Marcus noticed everything.

Jax looked at the screen for one second. Then he turned it face-down and kept eating like nothing had happened.

It rang again. He did not touch it.

The table went quiet. Marcus opened his mouth. Riley looked at him. He closed it.

The phone stopped ringing. Jax picked up his tray and stood.

"Field in twenty," he said, and walked out without looking at either of them.

Marcus watched him go. Then looked at Riley.

She shook her head slightly. Not now.

Marcus nodded and went back to his eggs.

Riley stared at the space where Jax had been sitting. Phone face-down. Two calls. Not even a flinch.

She did not know what was happening between him and his father. She did not know if she was supposed to.

She picked up her toast and told herself to stop noticing things that were not her business.

She was not very good at that.

Coach ran double sessions like the trials were already happening.

Morning was hard. Afternoon was something else entirely.

Drill after drill. Timed. Measured. Anyone who slowed down heard about it.

Jax did not slow down. Not once. He ran every drill at full pace, hit every mark, pushed harder than anyone on the field — and said nothing. That silence was worse than shouting because it left no excuse for anyone who could not match him.

Riley kept up. She fixed her form when Coach called it and kept her face blank and kept moving.

By the afternoon the sun was flat and white and her body was sending signals she was choosing not to hear. Six hours of sessions. A break that was not long enough.

She told herself it was the heat.

"Again! From the top!"

Again. From the top.

She was not going to be the one who stopped. Not in front of him. Not today.

Fifth drill. Full pace. Marcus just ahead of her —

And then the ground came up.

Not slowly. Not with warning.

Just — the ground. Her face. Grass.

And then nothing.

"RYAN!"

Marcus was on his knees beside her before the echo died. Both hands on her shoulders, talking fast, not fully making sense.

"He is not — somebody call — Ryan open your eyes, come on man, open your eyes—"

Jax was already there.

He crouched beside her, two fingers on her neck, eyes moving fast and steady. His face gave nothing. His voice cut across everything else.

"Get the medical team. Now."

Someone ran.

"Everyone back. Give him space."

Everyone moved back.

Marcus did not move back. Jax looked at him once. Did not say it again.

Riley came back in pieces.

White ceiling. That smell. A monitor beeping somewhere to her left.

She tried to sit up. A nurse pressed her gently back down.

"Not yet."

The nurse left.

Riley lay still for a moment. Then she reached for her phone on the bedside table and opened her messages.

She typed before she could think about it.

**Riley: I fainted on the field. I'm okay.**

Three seconds.

**Ryan: WHAT**

**Ryan: What do you mean you fainted?**

**Ryan: Riley.**

She stared at the screen.

**Riley: I said I'm okay.**

**Ryan: you called me from a hospital bed to tell me you're okay.**

She did not answer that.

**Ryan: come home.**

**Riley: no.**

**Ryan: at least tell me the truth.**

She put the phone face down on the bed.

The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Ryan: Riley.

She was still staring at the screen trying to figure out what to say when the door opened.

The phone slipped from her hand onto the blanket.

Dr. Harris walked in. She was calm the way people were calm when they had delivered difficult news enough times that it no longer surprised them. She picked up the chart from the end of the bed and read it without sitting down.

"You have been pushing your body past what it can handle," she said. "That is what caused the collapse. Your levels are low across the board. You need rest and proper nutrition and you need to take whatever you have been taking to manage your condition."

Riley said nothing.

Dr. Harris set the chart down. She pulled a chair close and sat. She did not open the chart again. She just looked at Riley quietly for a long moment — the way someone looked when the answer was already clear and the only remaining question was whether the other person would be honest about it.

Outside the door Marcus was talking. Jax was not.

Dr. Harris folded her hands in her lap.

Her voice was quiet. Steady. Final.

"Now."

"What exactly is a girl doing at Falcon Academy?"