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There were moments when Dillon hardly recognized her, when she seemed like a stranger on the screen. And then would come flashes of the Kam she knew. The person hidden beneath the glamorous persona of the rising movie star. She could find her in the way her heel caught on the hem of her dress when she went to uncross her legs. The smile she hid behind each time the host asked her a question she found mundane. The graciousness beneath her aplomb. The humility in her habit of deflecting individual praise to that of the production as a whole.

“This is your first major film, am I right, Kameryn?” the anchor asked, straightening her horn-rimmed glasses. She didn’t wait for a response. “Can you tell me—what has been the most difficult part of taking on this role?”

Kam didn’t hesitate. “Being away from the people I love.”

Dillon flipped the volume off as the anchor asked Kam about her boyfriend—how he felt aboutSand Seekersand if he’d beaccompanying her to the premieres. Dillon didn’t care about the answers. She knew Kam had been talking to her.

Two days before her race in Montreal, Kam called her in tears. She’d told her about Elliott’s phone call—about the reporter fromThe Sunwho had threatened to run the piece linking Kam’s name with hers.

A small part of her had wanted to tell Kam to let the bastard run it, allowing the chips to fall where they may. But she couldn’t deny the unfettering relief she’d felt when Kam told her she’d already called Carter, coming clean with him about everything, and asking if he’d be willing to play a different part.

“It’s only temporary,” she told Dillon, her voice still tight from crying. “A few well-timed photos. Maybe a public appearance or two. I promise, it’s not real.”

Realhadn’t been any part of Dillon’s concern. She never questioned Kam’s heart. She simply hated her own cowardice—that because of her, she’d now forced all three of them to live a lie in order to preserve the comfort of her privacy.

“He doesn’t mind,” Kam assured her when she asked how Carter felt. “He told me to thank you—because if you’d not come along, he’d never have believed the old‘it’s not you, it’s me,’was true.”

And so the wanker of a reporter had been paid off, Dillon’s name had slipped back to oblivion, Hollywood’s newest star was caught on camera holding hands with a boy who turned out to be her high school sweetheart, and life had slogged on as Dillon knew it.

Race after race, flight after flight, day after day of blisters, cramps, stiff muscles, aching joints, and the daily grind of training that never ended. As Kam jet-set across the globe with the cast ofSand Seekers, chained to their promotional tour, Dillon had closed out her season with another championship win.

It was her fourth world title, double the number of any other woman in triathlon history. She’d wanted it to come with some sense of gratification—to bring her the feeling of accomplishment she’d been lacking.

But the win had left her empty. The week before the race in Montreal, rumor had spread that Elyna Laurent had undergone rotator cuff surgery. The injury in Leeds had forced her to withdraw from the rest of the season.

So a win in Montreal, a second in Málaga, a fourth-place finish in Cagliari—despite a rolled ankle on the final lap of the run—had all meant nothing. Even her massive ninety second lead to win the final in Abu Dhabi, clenching the world title, hadn’t felt rewarding.

For the first time in her career, the series had completely drained her. Even without pitting herself against the youth of Elyna Laurent, it had taken everything she had to finish the year.

“Why are you still racing, Dillon?” Seren asked when she stopped by her flat the evening Dillon returned from the Middle East. Her sister had unboxed the gaudy World Championship trophy Dillon had dropped in her hall, and placed it on the shelf alongside the others.

“Same reason you ride. It’s what we do.”

Whatever Seren had wanted to say, she chose not to. Instead, she took a moment to study the wall of medals in Dillon’s living room, before turning back to face her. “Will a gold in Los Angeles be enough?”

“How could I know? I’ve never won one.”

“Dillon, I’m serious—”

“If mam’s got you here on anotherwhat are you going to do with the rest of your lifequest, just stop while you’re ahead,” Dillon had snapped, booting a pair of running trainers across the room. “I don’t ask her when she’s going to quit the courtroom. I don’t ask you when you’ll retire Épée. So you can both just climboff my back, will you? I’ve got enough of a load without carrying around dead weight.”

But long after her sister had gone, Dillon stewed on the unfinished conversation.

Time was ticking. She’d turned twenty-nine in Canada. Her body felt like it was twice its age. The Summer Games were a year and a half away.

If she won—no,whenshe won—what was next? Kyle had suggested she turn her sights to the longer endurance races. Or throw her hat in the women’s cycling ring. There was longevity there, he pointed out. Or, she could take up coaching. Help bring up the next great British athlete.

But it wasn’t the same.

“What are you banging on about?” Sam had asked when Dillon turned up at her door after a late-night run. “It’s not a decision you have to make right now. Train for tomorrow—focus on today.” And so Dillon had taken her friend’s advice and set the worries aside.

The buzzing of her mobile woke her. She’d dozed off on her sofa.

Kam’s face lit up her screen.

“So, Christmas!” Kam blurted as soon as she answered.

“Weren’t you just in the middle of an interview?” Dillon glanced at the time. She’d been asleep less than fifteen minutes.