SKY’S POV
We won Tuesday’s game by three, a clean one, no drama — the kind of win that should have felt like exactly what it was. Instead it sat in my chest like something unfinished, already fading before I’d even left the ice.
I stopped twenty-nine shots. Marchetti scored twice. The locker room afterward had the kind of noise that used to follow every win before this season turned into whatever it had turned into — guys laughing, music too loud, somebody spraying somebody else with a water bottle over some joke I’d missed the setup for.
I sat at my stall through most of it, gear half off, and realized I wasn’t actually part of the noise. I was watching it, the way you’d watch something through glass.
Someone called my name from the other end of the room. I heard it, registered it, a
