Maya had spent the bus ride back obsessing over the camera flash and the man who was documenting her every move. But by the next day, she discovered that external threats weren't her only problem.
The gym smelled faintly of disinfectant when Maya walked in for afternoon drills. Most of the team was already there, stretching on the polished floor, waiting. Coach Martinez stood near the equipment with his stopwatch, checking it every few seconds. His patience was visibly thinning.
"Where's your captain?" he asked, scanning the double doors.
No one answered. A few players shrugged. Maya bent to retie her laces even though they were already tight. Her stomach twisted because she already knew where this was going.
Madison's been circling all week. This was inevitable.
