The garden smelled different in the morning.
I didn't know how to explain it. It was the same grass, the same trees, the same stone paths that were already starting to feel familiar. But the air felt denser, something that wasn't exactly tension... although it felt like it.
McQueen arrived first.
She walked to the center of the garden with a calm step, as if measuring the space before deciding what to do with it. She wore her hair tied back with more precision than usual. That, for some reason, put me on high alert.
Ryan arrived seconds later.
She didn't measure anything. She just stood a few meters away, crossed her arms, and waited.
I was between the two of them.
Literally.
"Good," McQueen said, turning toward me. "Let's begin."
"We already started," Ryan replied from behind.
There was a brief silence.
"Not yet," McQueen countered without raising her voice.
It wasn't an argument. It was something more subtle. Two people speaking the same language but with different grammars.
I cleared my throat.
"What am I supposed to do?"
McQueen took a step toward me.
"First, I want to see how you handle the chair on a course with turns. Without rushing. With attention."
"He already did that yesterday," Ryan interjected.
"Yesterday was different."
"Why?"
"Because yesterday no one was truly observing him."
Ryan didn't answer.
That, I discovered, meant she didn't have an immediate argument.
McQueen pointed to a path that bordered one of the garden's flowerbeds. It wasn't long, but it had three sharp turns and a stretch of uneven stone toward the end.
"Take that route," she said. "I don't care about the speed. I just want to see how you make decisions."
"Decisions?"
"When you brake. When you release pressure. When you correct."
I looked at the path.
It seemed reasonable.
I placed my hands on the wheels and moved forward.
The first turn was clumsy. I noticed it before anyone said it. There was too much momentum and I had to brake too hard to avoid going off the path. The correction came late.
"You anticipated poorly," McQueen said calmly.
"I saw it coming," I replied.
"Seeing it is not enough."
I kept moving forward.
The second turn was better. I eased the pressure before reaching it and the turn was cleaner. Almost natural.
"There," McQueen said.
From behind, Ryan stayed silent. But I felt it.
The stretch of uneven stone was different. The chair vibrated with every bump. My hands adjusted their grip instinctively, compensating for the movement before it became unstable. It was a strange, syncopated rhythm, like learning to walk on water.
When I reached the end of the course, I stopped.
The silence lasted a second.
"It wasn't bad," McQueen said.
"It was good," Ryan corrected.
McQueen looked at her.
"The first turn was unnecessarily sharp."
"But the other two weren't."
"The course is evaluated as a whole."
Ryan approached with a firm step.
"Then evaluate it as a whole," she countered. "He improved on the other two turns on his own. That matters more than the first mistake."
"The first mistake establishes the initial pattern."
"Only if you don't correct it."
"And if you do not understand why you made it, you will repeat it."
I turned my head from one to the other as if watching something that wasn't exactly an argument but couldn't be called a conversation either.
"Can I say something?" I asked.
Neither answered.
"I'll take that as a yes."
I turned to face them both.
"I messed up the first turn because I calculated I would have more space. I was wrong. I did the second and third better because I adjusted the calculation. That was conscious."
Silence.
"I'm not defending myself," I added. "I'm just saying I know why it happened."
McQueen observed me carefully.
Ryan let out an exhale that wasn't exactly a laugh, but it was close.
"Good," Ryan said. "Then repeat it."
"Excuse me?"
"The course. Again."
"Ryan..." McQueen started.
"If he understood it, he can repeat it better," Ryan said without looking away from me. "If he can't, then he still hasn't fully understood it."
The logic was crushing, in its rough and direct way.
McQueen closed her eyes for a moment.
Not out of frustration.
Out of something closer to acknowledging that there was no way to contradict that without sounding unreasonable.
"Very well," she said.
I turned the chair.
The second run was different from the first turn. Not faster. Calmer. I allowed myself to arrive with less momentum and the turn came out almost effortlessly. The second turn was the same. I took the stone section with more confidence, adjusting my grip before I needed it.
When I reached the end for the second time, the fatigue was more evident.
But also something else.
A small satisfaction that didn't need a name.
"That was good," McQueen said.
"You see," Ryan replied.
"It was not a debate."
"Everything with you is a debate."
Something in the way she said it...
Wasn't hostile.