They look for who else is watching. Who’s listening. Who’ll use it.
Dante flicks his gaze to my phone. “That the Whisperer thing?”
I don’t answer.
Cole’s chin tips toward the door. “Coach is headed this way.”
That lands cleaner than an invitation. A warning. A staff text I didn’t see. A ripple that reaches the office before it reaches the rink.
Declan’s voice goes low. “What the hell is going on?”
Adrian’s eyes cut to my face like he’s reading the answer off it. He doesn’t say anything this time. He just watches.
“It’s worse,” I say.
I stand, shove my phone into my locker hard enough to rattle the door. The sound carries. A couple heads turn. I don’t care.
I hate that I do care.
Both can be true.
Dante’s mouth twitches like he almost smiles and decides against it. “You gonna tell us what just lit you up, or are we guessing?”
“You don’t want to guess,” I say.
Cole’s voice comes low and flat. “Try me.”
Dante points his chin at my locker. “Random hate account decide you’re today’s entertainment?”
Adrian steps in front of me just enough to block sightlines from the rest of the room. Tactical. His shoulder cuts off angles. His presence tells everyone else: not here.
He doesn’t speak.
I feel him anyway. Like pressure behind the eyes.
My jaw tightens. “I’m fine.”
Declan’s mouth twitches. Not amused. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“You want a play-by-play?” I ask. “Get a fucking subscription.”
Dante lets out one short sound through his nose. Not laughter. A blade. “There he is.”
Cole’s gaze narrows. “If this is about the rumors going around—”
I snap my head up. “Don’t say it in here.”
The room shifts. A few guys go still. The air changes.
That’s the thing about a locker room—privacy isn’t a door. It’s consent.
And I just revoked it.
Declan’s stare doesn’t move. “You’ve got all of us standing here, and you’re still acting like you’re alone.”
“I am alone,” I say.
No one argues with volume. They don’t need to.
