Meret stepped off the archery line, her arms still tingling from the tension of the bowstring. She could feel the rhythm in her chest, the energy she had learned to hold steady, like water contained in a narrow channel. Lisa watched her carefully, eyes sharp, lips pressed in that unreadable line of focus she always wore.

Bruce handed Meret a bottle of water. It was at that moment she realized how thirsty she was. She gulped down the contents emptying it and covered the bottle.

Bruce smiled, ...