Morning came with a sharp frost that painted the arena windows in pale silver streaks. The building always felt cold, but today it carried something sharper beneath the chill anticipation mixed with dread.
Sheila barely slept.
The anonymous email replayed in her mind all night, the words echoing every time she closed her eyes. He won’t survive this season. It sounded less like a warning and more like a promise.
She stepped into the arena earlier than usual, hoping the quiet would help her think. Instead, the silence made everything louder inside her head.
The rink lights were dim, only half switched on, reflecting faintly off the untouched ice. The scent of cold air and polished metal filled her lungs as she walked toward the analyst station.
She placed her bag down, exhaling slowly,
