SLOANE
The credential felt heavier than it should have.
It hung from a blue lanyard around my neck and bounced lightly against my sternum every time I moved, a laminated rectangle that said MEDIA in bold letters like that single word could transform me into someone untouched by nerves, history, or extremely bad decisions made in a pool house.
I kept touching it anyway.
Professional armor.
That was the plan.
Dalton University’s arena rose out of the dark like a cathedral built for violence and glory. Bright glass frontage, banners hanging in the lobby, students in navy and silver pouring through the doors in packs. The air outside smelled like cold metal, overpriced popcorn, and winter trying to happen before it was fully invited.
Ethan killed the engine and glanced at me.
“You’re d
