Built For Almost

The heat rolled off the track in waves, thick and clinging. It was early afternoon, the sun hanging low and stubborn in the sky, refusing to retreat. The camp training was entering its final stretch, and every athlete was being pushed to their limit. Sweat, repetition, and pressure had worn even the loudest voices thin.

Neil's knee had been aching since the night before, but he didn't say anything. He never did.

It wasn't a sharp pain - not yet - just a dull, persistent throb that echoed up through his thigh every time his foot struck the ground. He ignored it, like always. Gritted through it. Stared straight ahead and followed Coach Langley's shouted commands like a soldier.

But something was off today.

His legs weren't catching the rhythm right. His breath felt uneven. The noise around him - shouting, whistles, footsteps slapping the track - felt sharper, louder, like every sound was being played through a speaker turned up just a little too high.

And then someone said something.

He didn't even catch who - maybe Callum, maybe someone else - but it was offhand, a joke about "overtraining just to keep up," said with a laugh like it didn't matter.

It shouldn't have mattered. But it did.

Neil stumbled mid-sprint. Just a half-second pause. Enough to throw his balance.

Pain lanced through his knee, sudden and biting.

The world spun for a moment, his vision swimming in a haze of heat and noise, and when he caught himself - hands on his knees, gasping - he felt it. Panic, hot and electric, surging up his throat.

He couldn't catch his breath.

Someone shouted behind him, but it was just a blur. His chest heaved, lungs not working right. He tried to straighten, to speak, but all that came out was a broken sound.

"Zay-"
It was a whisper. Desperate. Fragile. "Where is he?"

No one heard him.

He turned in circles, blinking fast, panic rising like water in his lungs. The sun burned the back of his neck, and the ground tilted sideways.

"Neil?" a voice called out, concerned.

He didn't look.

He needed Zay.

He needed Zay.

His hands shook. His vision blurred again -
not from pain now, but from the sting in his eyes. He swayed on his feet, tried to move, but his knee locked, and he crumpled down hard, catching himself with a palm on the rough track.

"Where is he?" Neil whispered again, choked now.

Someone ran toward him.

It wasn't Zay.

"Coach-he's not okay!" a teammate shouted.

"Zay!" someone else called. "Find Zay!"

...

Zay had been getting water behind the east field when he heard it - shouting, not the usual kind. Urgent. Fearful. His name.

He dropped the bottle and sprinted.

By the time he reached the track, the world seemed to slow.