The knock was the kind that did not wait for an answer. Heavy. Calculated. Like each thud carried a warning.
George glanced at me once before opening the door. Coach filled the frame, a dark shape against the hallway light, his sharp eyes sweeping the room in one pass.
“Lane,” he said, voice flat. “We need to talk.”
He did not ask to come in. He stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him. His presence carried the same weight as the rink when it was silent before a game, a pressure that wrapped around my chest.
I forced my voice steady. “What is this about?”
Coach’s eyes locked on mine, then shifted briefly to George. “You are on the roster. Number sixteen. First match tomorrow.”
“I never signed up,” I said quickly.
“Doesn’t matter now.” He moved closer, his shadow str
