Across the ice, the Denver Mountaineers didn’t rush their warmup. They moved with intention—measured, unhurried, each pass placed exactly where it needed to be, each shift of position deliberate enough to feel like a choice rather than instinct. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t loud. It was controlled in a way that made you pay attention.
New team.
New system.
Built differently.
My fingers curled lightly around the railing as I stepped closer to the glass, my gaze dropping automatically to the ice.
Alois moved the way he always did—contained, deliberate, nothing wasted. Every shift of weight purposeful. Every movement measured.
Untouchable from up here.
Distant.
Removed.
And for the first time all day?—
I felt it.
Not the whispers.
Not the work.
Not even the pressure.
The crack.
It widened—slow at first, then all at once—splitting straight through the careful structure I had spent the entire day building around it.
“You’re going to want to see this.” The voice came from behind me.
My grip tightened on the railing, just enough that the metal pressed into my palm before I forced my fingers to release.
Char stood a step behind me, tablet in hand, her expression composed in that way that never quite read as neutral. There was always something underneath it. Calculation. Assessment. A quiet, waiting kind of certainty.
She didn’t hold the tablet out right away.
She let me look at her first.
Then she handed it over.
No commentary.
No warning.
Just the problem. It wasn’t the same image. Not even close.
I was staring down at a video. Grainy. Cropped. Pulled from someone’s phone—angle off, audio distorted just enough to make it feel invasive.
It was the same tunnel, on the same night. It was the fight.
Only now—it moved.
My voice carried first, sharper than I remembered it, cutting through the static. His followed, lower, harder to catch but no less present. Close. Too close. The kind of proximity that didn’t read as professional even if you stripped the sound away entirely.
“I hate you!” my voice crackled through the tinny speakers. “I can’t wait until this assignment is over.”