The bruises had deepened by the second morning into a map I could no longer ignore.
I stood under the weak hostel light and watched the colors shift—purple at the center, yellow already creeping at the edges. Every mark sat exactly where his hands had held me. I pressed one fingertip to the darkest print on my left hip and felt the dull answering throb. Then I pulled the waistband of my leggings up and locked the evidence away.
The rink felt different when I stepped onto it.
Not colder. Not louder. Just tighter, as if the air itself had learned the shape of what happened in the dark. Damian was already there, running light edge work near the far boards. He didn’t look at me when I joined the ice. He didn’t need to. I felt the weight of his attention settle across my shoulders the moment
