I slowed.
For one moment, the old voice returned.
Keep going.
Don’t let them see you hurt.
Don’t ask for help.
Don’t be weak.
Then I remembered my sister.
Not her hospital bed.
Not her illness.
Her laugh.
The way she used to dance in the kitchen while making breakfast.
The way she would steal food from my plate and pretend she hadn’t.
I realized something.
She had never wanted me to become someone who was afraid to stop.
She had wanted me to live.
I took a breath.
Then another.
And kept moving.
At mile ten, Vega appeared beside the route.
He didn’t shout.
He simply watched.
I passed him.
He nodded.
At mile twelve, I reached the final checkpoint.
My legs were shaking.
My lungs were burning.
I crossed the line and dropped to one knee.
For a few seconds, I couldn’t move.
Then I heard footsteps.
Daniels.
He pulled me to my feet.
“You made it.”
I laughed.
“So did you.”
“Barely.”
Vega approached.
He looked at his watch.
Then at me.
“You finished.”
I nodded.
“I did.”
He extended his hand.
I looked at it.
Then shook it.
“Good work, Mercer.”
Two words.
They meant more than any speech could have.
