"And the winner is Mabeline, by the way."
The words land like a fist to the sternum.
"Next time, actually try to win instead of thinking you have some natural advantage going against an Omega with actual skill."
My mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
He does not wait for a response. Does not look back to assess the damage. He glides through the gate and off the ice, carrying Mae Rose toward the tunnel that leads to the athletic facility, his auburn hair catching the fluorescent lights as he disappears with the effortless finality of someone who has never needed the last word because he already knows he won the conversation.
My heart is hammering against my ribs like a caged animal, every beat sending a rush of blood to my skull that makes the arena tilt on its axis.
This motherfucker.
Cal and Etienne exchange a single look, communicating an entire argument in one glance, before they follow without a word. Cal grabs his water bottle from the bench without breaking stride. Etienne unstraps his pads mid-skate, shedding the goalie equipment that will slow him down.
They are gone in seconds.
Following my brother.
Following the Omega.
Leaving me at center ice with my pride in pieces and more questions than I have carried in my entire life.
Sage and Archie share a loaded glance near the boards, an unspoken debate passing between them. Sage takes a step toward the exit, but Coach Lizzy calls out.
"You two stay put for now. They have got her handled. I need to discuss some things about the upcoming schedule."
Sage frowns but relents, crossing her arms tightly. Archie slides his glasses back on with the quiet resignation of someone returning to civilian identity after a brief, exhilarating stint as a weapon.
The arena buzzes with the aftermath, conversations breaking out in every direction, the story of the past twenty minutes getting retold and embellished in real time.
"Dude. His brother is hotter. That is genuinely tragic."
"And a captain? In France? Do the Calders just collect captain titles like trading cards?"
"Did you see the way he looked at Mae? Like she was the sun and he had been living underground."
"Did you see the way he looked at Vanessa? Like she was a parking ticket."
"Bro, I am DEAD."
"Does this mean Rafe is the less talented sibling? Because honestly..."
"Shut up, he is right there."
"I know. I want him to hear me."
But I hear none of it.
I am standing in the middle of the rink, my stick hanging limp in my hand, staring at the tunnel that swallowed my brother, my packmates, and the Omega whose scent still lingers in the freezing air like a ghost that refuses to leave.
I lost the race.
An Omega beat me across the ice in front of my entire team, my coaches, and the girl who has been on my arm for months. She proved to every person whose opinion matters to me that she is faster than their captain. And I did not even get to process that humiliation before Raphaël materialized, caught the winner mid-flight, and carried her off the ice while publicly announcing my defeat.
Vanessa appears beside me, her jasmine perfume clashing against the lingering traces of vanilla and roses that refuse to leave the arena air. Her hand finds my arm, her nails pressing into the fabric of my jersey with the urgency of a woman who senses her territory shifting.
