"Don't die today."
Marcus's expression didn't change.
"Not planning on it," he replied, his voice steady, like he wasn't afraid of anything.
Then he was gone again, sprinting back toward the water, blending into the tide of bodies without looking back.
I stayed there for another minute, my pulse finally slowing, with the echo of his touch still warm against my neck.
Michael didn't say a word.
He didn't need to.
Chapter twenty-two
Marcus
My quads seized with each pedal stroke in the triathlon's cycling phase, the familiar burn of lactic acid twisting into something sharper. Sweat carved trails down my temples, stinging my eyes as I blinked away the salt. The digital display on my bike computer blurred—mile fifty-two point eight out of fifty-six.
The wind had teeth, every gust finding new ways to slip past my race suit, but the chill didn't reach the furnace building in my muscles. I shifted gears, searching for a rhythm that might ease my growing aches. My bike chain caught, grinding metal against metal before settling into a new groove.
"Looking strong, McCabe!" A spectator's voice reached me from the opposite side of the empty stretch of road, but I didn't turn. I couldn't afford the distraction.
James's face flickered through my thoughts. I saw the tight set of his jaw when I'd left him at the swim start. His words about my father haunted me: "To Raines, he's still alive in you. Still teaching. Still transforming."
My father had seen something in fire that drew people to him—not only recruits at the academy but damaged souls like Elliot. Now, his ghost shadowed every mile of the race.
Michael's fury still echoed in my head: "You're walking into it like an idiot." Maybe he was right. Perhaps this whole race was what Raines wanted—me alone out here, stripped down to little more than sinew and determination.
The course stretched ahead, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through dense pines. Rare clusters of spectators dotted the roadside, their cheers feeling distant and hollow. Most riders had spread out by now, leaving long stretches of solitude broken only by the whisper of rubber on pavement and the mechanical click of my drivetrain.
I caught myself scanning the tree line, checking shadows that shouldn't have mattered. The rational part of my brain knew better. The rest of me remembered the mannequin burning on the lakeshore and how the flames peeled back layers of synthetic skin.
Focus on the ride.My fingers tightened on the handlebars until the cushioned tape bit into my palms.Just finish the damn bike phase.
Another rider passed, his rear wheel kicking up small stones that pinged against my frame. The sound echoed wrong somehow, like something slightly out of tune. I shook off the thought and pushed harder, forcing my legs to maintain my cadence even as fatigue crept deeper into the muscle.
It wasn't about the race anymore. Maybe it never had been. Every mile bore a message written in burning letters:Come find me. If you dare.
James would've seen the pattern already and would've broken down every possibility with that precise mind of his. The thought of him hit differently now—not only admiration for his insight but something deeper that I'd been avoiding naming.
A prickle crawled up my spine, sharp enough to cut through the fatigue. The sensation wasn't new. Raines was watching like so many times before during training runs and pre-dawn swims. Somehow, this was different—like someone breathing down my neck.
I risked a glance over my shoulder, scanning the stretch of empty road behind me. Two riders in the distance, too far back to explain the unease settling into my bones. The course had thinned considerably, leaving me exposed on a winding section of highway. Vulnerable.
Dad used to say that vulnerability wasn't weakness—it was awareness. But he'd never known how Elliot watched him during training drills, documenting every move while twisting normal instruction into something grotesque. Or maybe he had known, and that's why he pushed so hard and drove himself beyond limits. The same way I did now.
My lungs couldn't seem to get enough air. Each breath came shorter than the last, like when smoke filled one's chest.
Get it together.I forced my focus back to the road. The bike computer showed my heart rate spiking well above threshold, the numbers jumping erratically. It wasn't normal, even for mile fifty-four.
A bead of sweat traced down my neck. The sensation of being watched intensified, pressing against my skin. The space between my shoulder blades itched, demanding attention.
The trees opened up to a clearing, and for a moment, I caught my reflection in a roadside puddle—hunched over my handlebars, muscles coiled tight and rigid. I barely recognized myself. The image fractured as my front tire sent ripples through the water, distorting everything into twisted shapes.
The first warning came as a metallic shriek—like nails dragged across steel. My bike shuddered beneath me, the frame flexing in ways that carbon fiber never should.
Something snapped.
