The house had fallen into that deep, post-midnight hush where every creak sounded like a confession. I couldn’t sleep. The bruises along my ribs throbbed in time with my heartbeat, but it was the memory of Caleb’s arms around me, his forehead pressed to mine, his whispered “I’m done pretending” that kept my eyes wide open.
I slipped out of bed just after two a.m., pulled on leggings and a hoodie, and crept downstairs. The arena was only a ten-minute walk, and the side door code hadn’t changed since my first night here. I needed the ice. I needed the one place where everything made sense—where physics mattered more than politics, where I could outskate every ghost chasing me.
The rink was dark when I let myself in, only the emergency lights glowing faintly along the boards. I laced up alo
