The arena felt colder than usual when we stepped onto the ice for morning practice. The lights hummed overhead, casting long shadows across the fresh sheet. Most of the team was still sluggish from yesterday’s war, but Caleb moved like a man with something to prove. Or something to punish.
He skated beside me during warm-ups, close enough that our blades nearly touched on every crossover. His presence was a living wall—protective, possessive, and impossible to ignore. Every time I glanced toward the stands, half-expecting Kane to be watching from the shadows, Caleb shifted to block my view.
“Eyes on your edges,” he said, voice low and rough as he circled me. “Not on ghosts.”
I adjusted my grip on my stick, jaw tight. The bruises along my ribs pulled with every stride, a sharp reminder o
