Sheila arrived at the arena later than usual, her mind still heavy with the echoes of yesterday’s heartbreak. The city outside had been grey and unwelcoming, a mirror of her mood. She barely noticed the drizzle soaking her coat as she made her way through the familiar entrance, the hum of fluorescent lights above doing little to comfort her.
Inside, the energy was already palpable. Players skated furiously across the ice, their breaths misting in the cold air. The sounds of sticks clashing and skates scraping against the ice were deafening, yet Sheila felt distant from it all. She moved toward her usual spot at the edge of the rink, clipboard clutched tightly in her hands as if it were a shield.
Atticus Finch was there, naturally, already in the middle of warm-ups. He looked sharper than
