Penelope's POV
The opening face-off is between Timothy and me—a symbolic confrontation that has the entire arena on its feet. The referee holds the puck above the center ice circle while we stare each other down across the dot.
"Make it clean." His voice cuts through the crowd noise.
I nod, focused entirely on Timothy's body language. He's bigger than me, stronger, but I've learned to use speed and intelligence over brute force. His blue eyes are intense and focused, but there's something else there too. Something that looks like desperation.
The puck drops.
Timothy tries to win it back to his defenseman, but I've studied his tendencies. I know he favors his backhand in face-offs, so I'm ready when he makes his move. My stick intercepts the puck cleanly, and suddenly I'm racing toward
