The evening air was thick with tension as Sheila walked toward the arena, the city’s lights reflecting off wet streets from the earlier rain. She tightened her coat around herself, though the chill was nothing compared to the unease coiling in her stomach. Carter’s presence, invisible but palpable, still hung over the past day. Every step she took reminded her that he was calculating, planning, watching, waiting for the smallest slip.
Atticus was already there when she arrived, leaning against the rink’s sideboards, helmet in hand. He didn’t speak at first, just regarded her with the same intense, unreadable expression that made her pulse quicken. Sheila met his gaze, steadying herself, though the tension between them thrummed like electricity in the air.
“You ready for this?” he asked f
