“Camille, when did you sign a statement saying Anton saw you hit the ice?”
Anton stood beside the treatment table as the question came through Camille’s phone.
“I didn’t,” Camille said. “I signed the statement about the jump. Not that.”
Eleanor paused. “Nadia Bell submitted this one at eight forty-two this morning through her delegate access. The signature is an image pasted from the consent form on your athlete account. The small tear in the bottom of the R is identical.”
Anton stared at the wall chart above the sink. He had given Nadia the booking note. He had given her the information that made the false report possible. Now his name sat in a statement Camille had never signed.
“Can you remove it?” Camille asked.
“I can mark it disputed. I’ve locked Nadia’s delegate access pending an audit. I need each of you to state, separately, what you know about the document.”
“You already have mine,” Anton said.
“I have your account of the reported fall. I don’t yet have your consent to examine all four months of your messages with Nadia.”
He understood the distinction. Those messages included his first request for private ice and everything he had chosen not to tell Camille at the time.
“You have it,” he said.
Camille glanced at him. Her face gave him nothing he could safely claim to understand.
Eleanor said, “Leah can take the authorization at the registrar’s office. I’ve also asked her to preserve the rink’s camera archive. There’s an export attached to Nadia’s account.”
“Of which session?” Anton asked.
“The first Thursday you trained together.”
After the call ended, Camille set the phone on the treatment table.
“You don’t have to release four months for my statement,” she said.
“It’s my disclosure they’ll be reading.”
“Yes.” She stepped down from the table. “That’s why I wanted you to know what you agreed to.”
The registrar’s office was across the arena, beyond a door Anton had only ever passed on competition days. Inside, a printer worked steadily under a shelf of old event binders. Leah had two authorization sheets waiting.
“The termination is recorded,” she told them before either sat. “You are no longer entered as a pair. This review won’t restore the offered place.”
“Good,” Camille said, and signed her sheet.
Anton signed his. Leah checked the boxes, then slid a third form toward him.
“This permits the review to use your messages as evidence. It doesn’t determine whether disclosing Camille’s training difficulty breached account rules.”
“I know.”
For four months he had called that disclosure practical. It had got them the five-to-six hour with no one else on the ice. He had never asked Camille whether privacy bought that way was privacy she wanted.
Camille read the form before handing it back to Leah. “Does Nadia still have access to my older consent forms?”
“Not now. Eleanor locked the delegate account.” Leah turned her monitor so they could see the audit line. “The signature image came from an attachment downloaded this morning. The camera export is older. Nadia saved it during your first week.”
Anton remembered that Thursday: the thin line of dawn at the far windows, Camille repeating the entry until her edges lost their certainty. He remembered leaving at five fifty-eight while she stayed to loosen her boots. He did not remember a camera.
“Can we see the export?” he asked.
“Eleanor has put it under hold. Viewing has to happen at the rink terminal with her present. Five tomorrow morning is the first slot.”
Camille studied the audit line. “She kept it all this time.”
Leah didn’t answer. She printed their copies and passed one to each of them.
At five the next morning, Anton entered the training rink without skates. Camille was already at the boards with Eleanor, who had a terminal open on the officials’ table. The overhead lights were still coming on in strips across the empty ice.
Eleanor waited until he reached them. “This is the complete export Nadia attached to her account. I haven’t trimmed it.”
On the screen, a camera looked down the length of the rink. A date from four months earlier appeared in one corner. Anton watched himself leave through the gate at 5:58.
Camille remained on the ice.
He looked away from the real Camille and back at the screen. Her recorded figure circled once, set an edge and jumped. She broke rotation on the way down. Her blade touched first, then her hip struck the ice.
Anton gripped the back of an empty chair. He had told Eleanor he had not seen her hit the ice. That remained true. It felt smaller than it had yesterday.
On the recording, Camille sat up. Before she could stand, Nadia came through the gate. She had been close enough to reach her in seconds.
Eleanor stopped the video. “Nadia named you as the witness despite this footage. I’m asking her why.”
Camille was watching the frozen image of Nadia at the boards.
“She promised me she deleted it,” Camille said.