Chapter 4 The Name On the Warning

For two years, Orren Vale had been the only coach willing to stand beside me when everyone else decided my career was over. Now I was staring at his name on a document that could explain why I’d lost everything in the first place.

I read the line again, hoping I’d misunderstood something. The medical warning was dated three days before my championship final, and beneath the section marked Recipients, Orren’s name appeared alongside two senior programme officials. My stomach twisted as I remembered every rehabilitation session he’d supervised, every encouraging word he’d offered, and the opportunity he’d arranged for me at Northbridge.

“Zennika Marlowe?”

I barely registered Orren calling my name until several athletes turned toward me. He stood at the front of the orientation hall, holding his clipboard and waiting for my attention.

“Is there a problem with your assigned training partner?”

I looked at Rhydan, who was watching me with an expression I couldn’t decipher. Then I glanced back at Orren, wondering whether he’d spent the last two years feeling guilty whenever he looked at me.

“Actually, Coach, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Then you can see me after orientation. Right now, we need to finish going through the programme requirements.”

I wanted to stand up and demand answers in front of everyone. Instead, I locked my phone and forced myself to remain seated. Whatever Orren had done, confronting him publicly without understanding the evidence would only create another spectacle, and I’d already provided the internet with enough entertainment for one week.

Rhydan leaned closer as Orren continued speaking.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“Zen, you’re shaking.”

I looked down and realised my fingers were trembling against my knees. I immediately folded my arms, furious that he’d noticed something I was trying so desperately to hide.

“Here’s a wonderful idea, Cross. Stop watching me and concentrate on your own life.”

His expression tightened, but he turned away without arguing. I should have felt satisfied. Instead, I spent the remaining twenty minutes wondering whether he already knew whose name appeared on that document.

When orientation finally ended, athletes began gathering their belongings and discussing the afternoon’s performance assessments. I remained seated until Orren finished speaking with another coach, then approached him with my phone gripped tightly in my hand.

“Coach, I need to ask you something about my old championship.”

He glanced toward the athletes leaving the hall before returning his attention to me.

“Can it wait until after your assessment? We have a demanding schedule today.”

“No, it can’t. Not when your name is on a medical warning that says I shouldn’t have competed.”

For the first time since I’d known him, Orren appeared genuinely speechless. His eyes moved toward my phone, and the colour slowly drained from his face.

“Where did you get that?”

“The Athletics Integrity Office sent it to me. Would you like to explain why you received a warning about my injury and nobody thought I deserved to know?”

Orren exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand across his forehead. He looked older than he had an hour earlier, and something about that frightened me more than an angry denial would have.

“Zennika, this isn’t a conversation we should have in a hallway.”

“Funny. Two years ago, nobody thought it was a conversation worth having at all.”

“I understand why you’re upset, but receiving a document isn’t the same as making the final medical decision. I wasn’t the person authorised to clear you for competition.”

“Then what did you do when you received it?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Behind us, someone laughed near the exit, and the ordinary sound felt strangely offensive when my entire world was threatening to collapse.

“I forwarded my concerns to the medical director. I was told another assessment had been completed and that you were cleared to run.”

“And you believed them?”

“I believed the people responsible for making that decision. Whether I should have challenged them is something I’ve spent a long time asking myself.”

I stared at him, struggling to reconcile his admission with the man who’d helped me through countless painful mornings. He wasn’t denying that he’d known there were concerns, but he wasn’t admitting responsibility for the decision either.

“Why didn’t you tell me afterward?”

“Because by the time I realised how serious the discrepancies were, the investigation had already begun. I gave my statement, Zennika. You’ll have an opportunity to read it.”

“Then I intend to.”

I stepped away before he could continue, afraid that if I stayed, I’d either start crying or say something I couldn’t take back. Orren called after me, but I kept walking until I reached the women’s changing room.

My first Northbridge assessment began forty minutes later, and I was in absolutely no condition to impress anyone.

The performance specialist, Dr. Elara Finch, reviewed my rehabilitation records before taking me through mobility exercises and a series of controlled acceleration drills. She explained that today’s session was intended to establish a baseline, not test my maximum speed.

Unfortunately, my brain had apparently decided that every assessment was a public referendum on whether I deserved to exist.

“You’re forcing the movement, Zennika. Relax your shoulders and stop trying to prove something with every stride.”

I nodded and returned to the starting line, adjusting my position as the other athletes continued their exercises. Mirelle was training on the opposite side of the track, moving with the effortless confidence I’d once possessed.

When the whistle sounded, I pushed forward too aggressively. My first few steps were awkward, and I immediately felt the familiar urge to protect my right leg.

“Stop there. We’re repeating that drill at a lower intensity.”

I groaned, resting my hands against my hips as Elara approached. She studied my posture before asking whether I’d experienced any pain, and I shook my head.

“Then we work on control. Speed comes later, and nobody here is impressed by athletes who ignore instructions.”

From the neighbouring conditioning area, I heard a familiar laugh.

“That advice might take her a while to understand.”

I turned to find Rhydan standing beside a row of training hurdles, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Don’t you have a race to lose somewhere?”

“Not until next month. Plenty of time to enjoy your charming company.”

Elara gave us both a warning look before directing Rhydan back toward his own session. I hated that his ridiculous comment had briefly distracted me from the conversation with Orren.

I hated even more that, for the first time all morning, I’d almost smiled.

The rest of the assessment went considerably better once I stopped treating every movement like a championship final. My acceleration remained inconsistent, but Elara seemed satisfied with my physical control and arranged another session later in the week.

By the time I finished, exhaustion had settled deep into my muscles. I was collecting my water bottle when Rhydan approached, carrying a small towel over one shoulder.

“I heard you confronted Orren.”

I turned toward him slowly, every trace of amusement disappearing.

“Did you know his name was on that warning?”

Rhydan’s expression changed. He glanced toward the nearly empty track before answering.

“Yes. But there’s something about that document you need to understand.”

“Then stop treating me like a child and tell me.”

He hesitated, and I felt my remaining patience disappear.

“The copy I gave the investigators wasn’t the first version of that warning, Zennika. I only discovered the difference when I compared it with the records released after your injury.”

I stared at him, trying to understand what he meant.

“What difference?”

Rhydan reached into his training bag and removed a folded sheet of paper. He held it toward me, his expression painfully serious.

“The document you received this morning lists Orren as a recipient. This is the earlier copy I kept from the medical office.”

I unfolded the paper and examined the recipient section. Orren’s name wasn’t there, but another detail caught my attention immediately.

The two documents carried different issue dates.

And the earlier warning had been written five days before my championship final.

I slowly lifted my eyes toward Rhydan, who looked as though he’d been dreading this conversation for years.

“Someone changed the report before it entered the official records. And whoever did it made sure the original warning disappeared.”