Chapter 5 The Name on the File

Zara’s POV

The smell of antiseptic rubbing alcohol hit my nose before my eyes could even open.

I blinked against the glaring fluorescent lights overhead, waiting for my blurry surroundings to settle while my left leg throbbed with a rhythmic ache.

Memory rushed back in a violent wave, reminding me of the sickening pop twenty meters from the finish line and the embarrassing way I had hit the track in front of the entire squad.

I shifted on the examination bed, bracing myself for Esther to be hovering nearby with her usual fake concern. Instead, Ethan sat on the metal stool beside me, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor while his large hands gripped a cold ice pack.

“You look like someone died,” I muttered, my voice raspy and dry.

Ethan snapped his head up, a sharp breath escaping his lips before he quickly masked his relief.

“You’ve been out for twenty minutes, Zara. How does your leg feel?”

“Like a truck ran over it, backed up and ran over it again,” I replied, attempting to sit up before a sharp twinge in my thigh forced me back against the pillows. “Where is the team doctor? And where is Esther? She usually loves playing nurse when I get hurt.”

“Doctor Vance is printing your assessment sheets down the hall,” Ethan answered, setting the ice pack on the bedside tray. “I asked your friend to wait outside because she was pacing around, making enough noise to wake the dead. I carried you off the track myself after you passed out. I wasn't leaving until the physician gave me an actual answer about your leg.”

I blinked at him, completely caught off guard. “You carried me?”

“You were flat on your back and turning pale,” Ethan said, looking away as if he suddenly found the medical equipment fascinating. “I wasn't about to let them haul you onto a stretcher like a piece of broken cargo. The doctor checked the tendon and confirmed it’s just a severe strain with deep muscle spasms, not a full re-tear. You got lucky.”

The honesty in his voice knocked the air out of my lungs, cracking through the defensive wall I had spent three years building against him. He looked exhausted, his hair messy, his uniform still damps from practice. He seemed genuinely shaken by my fall.

“Why do you care so much?” I asked quietly, staring at the bandage around my thigh. “You spent three years letting the whole world believe you didn't care about what happened to me.”

Ethan let out a low, tired sigh, running a broad hand over his face.

“I always cared, Zara. I just didn't know how to look at you after that day without seeing the damage I caused.”

The room fell into heavy silence, broken only by the hum of the small air conditioner. This was the first time in three years he had dropped his arrogant guard. The vulnerability in his dark eyes gave me the opening I needed.

“If you really want to clear your conscience, answer one question for me,” I said, leaning forward despite the ache in my leg. “Do you remember anything unusual about the morning of the trials? Right before we stepped onto the track?”

The shift in his posture was instant. Ethan’s face shuttered like a locked vault, his jaw tightening as the warmth in his eyes vanished.

“It was three years ago,” Ethan replied flatly. “It was a chaotic morning, just like every other national trial.”

“Don't give me the PR script, Ethan,” I pressed, my pulse quickening. “I saw your face on the starting block footage. You were terrified before the gun even went off. Someone talked to you in the tunnel, didn't they? Someone said something that completely threw you off.”

Ethan stood from the stool, brushing his hands against his athletic shorts as he stepped away from the bed.

“Some doors are better left closed, Zara. Digging up ancient history isn't going to fix your hamstring, and it isn't going to help us win this relay.”

“So you are hiding something,” I stated, the familiar burn of anger replacing my temporary softness. “Unbelievable. You sit here acting like you care about my health, but the second I ask for the truth, you pull back to protect yourself just like you did three years ago.”

“I am trying to protect the team,” Ethan shot back, his dark eyes flashing with frustration.

“You're protecting your reputation,” I snapped, pointing a trembling finger toward the door. “Get out. If you're not going to be honest with me, I don't want you in this room.”

Ethan opened his mouth as if to defend himself, but stopped. He swallowed his words, held my furious glare for two agonizing seconds, then turned on his heel and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

I sank back into the pillows, my chest heaving as tears of frustration pricked the corners of my eyes. I grabbed my bag from the floor, pulled out my phone with trembling hands and dialled Marcus’s direct number.

He answered on the second ring.

“Zara? Are you okay?” Marcus asked, the noise of a crowded newsroom buzzing in the background. “I just heard from a contact at the facility that you went down during intervals.”

“It’s just a strain,” I replied quickly, pushing the pain aside. “I need to know if you found anything in those archived investigation files, Marcus. Ethan completely shut down when I brought up the morning of the race. I know he's keeping something from me.”

The background noise on Marcus's end suddenly faded, as if he had walked into a private office or quiet hallway.

“I actually just pulled the original witness statements from the league vault ten minutes ago,” Marcus said, his voice dropping into a hushed, serious tone. “Zara, something is very wrong with the official investigation paperwork. The timeline doesn't make any sense.”

I gripped the phone tighter against my ear. “What do you mean?”

“There is an official witness statement in the file dated the morning of the trials,” Marcus explained, the sound of paper rustling through the speaker. “The statement claims that Ethan was visibly distressed before the race because he was dealing with personal issues. The committee used that to rule the collision an accidental loss of focus. But the statement is signed by a league staff member whose employment records show she wasn't even hired until two weeks after the trials ended.”

My stomach dropped into a cold, bottomless pit as my breath hitched.

“Someone forged a witness statement to close the investigation?”

“Not just someone,” Marcus clarified, his voice heavy with caution. “Someone who wanted to make sure Ethan took the blame without anyone looking deeper into who actually caused the distraction in the tunnel.”

“Marcus,” I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Who signed that statement?”

Marcus paused for a long, agonizing moment before reading the printed name directly from the official document.

“Esther Kane.”