We’re two turns from my block when my breath hitches.
Not because of a shadow.
Because of a thought that comes in so quietly I almost miss it.
I want this.
Not just the protection.
Not just the quiet.
Not just last night’s heat.
I want them.
All of them.
The realization swells, terrifying and gentle.
Finn glances back through the headrest gap, reading my face too easily.“Hey,” he says.“What’s that look?”
“Nothing,” I say, and then hear my own voice and try again.“Something good.”
Atlas makes a sound that lands between a question and relief.Kael’s mouth curves a millimeter.
By the time we reach the rink, my pulse is steady.My palms are dry.My heart does not try to crawl up my throat and escape.
Security holds the door for us.The building’s cold breath rolls over my face and whispers you belong here if you want to.I do.
In the trainer’s room, I wash my hands and set up my station.The drawer where the old phone sleeps is closed and will stay closed.The bottom of the cart holds tape, scissors, a spare hoodie I keep for players who forget theirs, and the new empty space where something heavy used to live.
Finn taps the glass from the ice—two fingers, quick, the new pattern that means hello, you okay, I’m here.I lift my hand back.Atlas skates by, eyes finding mine, nod small but present.He takes a lane where I can see him.Kael’s whistle slices the air and the machine of the morning shudders into motion.
I breathe.
The world is still big.
The fear is still real.
The past is still patient.
But today, the ground holds.
And I know who I’ll be looking for if it shifts.
