before landing smoothly at Aspen-Pitkin County Airport. This was not a vacation. It was the next item on
her two children. The cold was a clean, sharp shock after the recyc
e of the Aspen Elite Children's Ski Championship. The
Mason is going to win," she said with absolute certainty, as if the outcome had already been decided by forces beyond mortal comprehension. She
areful hand over Mason's red-and-black professional ski
eflective goggles. They hid the top half of his fac
m. Sophie can use it for her dolls." He tapped his chest twice-
roup. Mason gave his mother a quick nod, clicked his boots into his
e, Julian Sinclair IV stood watching the activity below. He held a cup
utive assistant, Leo Reynolds, hur
he trainers say he has a ninety percent chance
ng at it, his eyes fixed on the star
quietly apart from the other racers. Logan. He wore the same sty
He had always suspected Logan was the product of some scheme, some leverage Kaila had concocted. He provided the boy with the best of everything-the best schools, the best trainers, the best gear-but a chasm of emotional distance remai
would be this age now. Would that child have been tall like him? Quiet like Chlo
race official below shattered
pted from the starting pi
ized missiles, their small bodies expertly navigating the slalom gates. They leaned into the turns at the same angle. They shifted their weight at
e. Down at the railing, Chloe gripped the cold metal, her knuckles white, her breath held tight in her chest. Her eyes neve
took a risky inside line, his s
im perfectly, his control of his cente
than usual, with a flair he'd never seen before. For the first time, Julian found himself actually watching L
he mountainside, pulling further and further ahead of th
sight. The energy of the
tors, trying to get as close to the finish as pos
ost perfectly side-by-side, hurtling toward the end. Below, a mother held her breath. Above, a father-reluctant, distan

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