I nodded, grateful. “Yeah. Just started.”
Ignatius inclined his head. “I’m glad you seem to be coping.”
He was wrong, but I didn’t say it. I just kept my eyes on the glass, watching Cole in the face-off circle, all focus and sharp lines.
Ignatius’s gaze softened, just a little, when it landed on Doryu. “You'll learn quickly.”
The warmth in his voice was subtle, but it was there. Like he was proud or something, even if he’d never say it out loud.
Doryu shrugged, like being noticed didn’t matter, but I could tell it did. Ignatius poured himself another coffee and, to my shock, offered the pot to me. “Would you like some?”
My hands shookas I took the cup, but he didn’t comment. Just poured it and passed over the sugar. “Thank you,” I managed, and he nodded.
“You’re welcome. The stadium blend is surprisingly good.” He sipped his own. “You follow hockey, or just the business side?”
Doryu glanced at me, like he wanted to see what I’d say.
I shrugged. “I’m new to everything. But the games are…something else.”
Ignatius’s mouth quirked, not quite a smile but close. “Armstrong is a unique player. Harder than he looks.”
Doryu jumped in. “Keegan says he’s the best they’ve had in years.”
Ignatius nodded. “He is.” His eyes were on the ice, but I could tell he didn’t miss anything else. “He plays with…purpose.” I had the feeling he was going to say something else, but I didn’t know what. To be honest the guy was intimidating, but Doryu was cool, so Ignatius must have a lot of redeeming qualities.
The third period was chaos. The Grizzlies got a tying goal and suddenly everyone on the ice was playing like their life depended on it. Cole was everywhere. He didn’t even look tired, just more focused, like every shift was the only thing that kept him upright. He set up the winning play with a pass so perfect I heard Doryu gasp. “Holy shit. He’s unreal.”
I couldn’t help it. I grinned, even though my jaw ached. Doryu looked at me, really looked at me, and for a second I thought he was going to ask something, but Cole caught a pass.
It happened so quickly my brain barely caught up. One second he was streaking down the boards, pure precision, the next—impact. A body slammed into him from behind, hard enough I could feel it in my gut even from up here.
He hit the ice flat, didn’t bounce, didn’t move.
My fingers tightened on the glass. The box around me went still, all conversation dying in an instant.
Come on.Move.
When he didn’t, something inside me twisted. I’d seen him take harder hits, sure, but this—this felt different. The air itself seemed to shift.
Then the steam started.
At first, I thought it was the arena lights catching weirdly, but no—it was rising from the icearound him.A faint shimmer, a curl of mist that shouldn’t have been there. The players nearest him stepped back, frowning. Even from here, I could see the patch under his glove shining wet, spreading in a pattern that made no sense.
The referee skated over, whistle shrill. Trainers came running.
“What the hell…?” someone in the box muttered beside me.
The cameras zoomed in on him as the trainers crouched beside his still form. The ice underneath had gone cloudy, the edges warped like it had melted and refrozen in seconds. One of the refs bent to touch it and pulled back quickly, shaking his head. They said something to the bench. Then came the announcement:
“Play will pause for ice repair. Zamboni coming out.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off Cole. He was sitting up now, head bowed, ribs clutched in one arm, letting the medics talk to him. He looked pale, shaken—but more than that, he looked scared.
Not of the injury.
Of himself.
The others wouldn’t notice. They’d chalk it up to bad luck, a rough hit, a weird ice malfunction. But I’d seen it.
