Finn stops by the door and hesitates.He’s gentle with her in ways that make sense — he stands close but not too close, offers help without pushing.But even gentle isn’t enough today.
She waves him off.
He gives her space, brows furrowed in worry.
Kael walks by next — controlled, careful, keeping a distance that looks like it hurts him.He doesn’t say anything.He just lies with his eyes when she tells him she’s fine.
I stay hidden.
Because if I walk in there right now, I’ll do the opposite of gentle.
I’ll demand answers.
I’ll demand names.
I’ll demand the phone.
She won’t give them.
And I’ll scare her more.
The second she leaves the med room, I follow at a distance.Not enough for her to notice.Enough for me to track her.
She walks too fast.
She doesn’t look around.
She’s in her head and not in her body.
She could be hit by anything—
a puck, a player, a stranger—
and she wouldn’t see it coming.
I clench my jaw, following her all the way to the staff exit.She steps outside, hoodie pulled tight, hands shoved deep in her pockets.
Cold wind lifts her hair.
She shivers.
And then she pulls out her phone again.
The way her face changes — open dread, fear so sharp it cuts — tells me everything.
Someone is hurting her.
Someone is doing it on purpose.
Someone is watching her.
The urge to go to her pulses through every vein in my body.But I hold myself back by inches, by breath, by force of will.
Not yet.
Not until she’s ready to tell us.
Not until she’s ready to tell me.
