A few more players drifted in, louder now, the rink starting to echo with skate bags hitting benches and locker doors opening.
One of them noticed me and slowed slightly.
“You’re the journalist, right?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He grinned a little. “Coach said we’re not allowed to run from you.”
I gave him a small, polite smile. “That would make my job easier, actually.”
He laughed and moved on.
The coach gestured slightly toward the rink. “They’ll warm up in about ten minutes. You’ll have a small window before full drills start.”
“Perfect,” I replied.
I looked down at my notes again, flipping to the next page.
Still no Mason.
Not yet.
My grip tightened slightly on the pen without meaning to.
Then I forced myself to loosen it.
The coach stepped away briefly to speak with another staf
