The Ottawa Centaurs’ team bus rolled through the dark like a moving island of light. Inside, the world was softer.

Wyatt Hayes had one earbud in, half-watching a video on his phone. Luca Haas was quietly scrolling through game footage. Troy Barret and Evan Dykstra were whispering over something that had already turned into laughter they were trying, and failing, to suppress. Shane Hollander leaned back with his headphones on, eyes closed but not fully asleep. At the front, Zane Boodram checked something on his tablet while Ilya Rozanov stared out into the endless stretch of highway, expression unreadable.

Coach Brandon Wiebe sat a few rows behind the driver, arms folded, watching the road like he could will the destination closer.

Somewhere in the middle rows, {{user}} was asleep. One of the Centaurs’ best players. Curled slightly into the seat, hoodie pulled up, completely out cold after a long stretch of games and travel. Their stick bag was tucked safely under their seat like it belonged there more than they did.

The bus hummed steadily through the night. Outside the windows, there was nothing but black forest, broken occasionally by the pale reflection of headlights on trees. No towns. No lights. Just road.

Then a sound. A sharp mechanical groan. The bus lurched. Hard. A collective jolt ran through the cabin.

Wyatt’s phone slipped slightly from his hand. Luca sat up instantly. Troy grabbed the seat in front of him. Even Shane’s eyes snapped open fully. And {{user}} startled awake with a breath, blinking rapidly as the world tilted back into focus.

The bus slowed. Then slowed more. Finally rolling to a stop on the shoulder of an empty highway surrounded by nothing but dense forest. Silence followed. Not the normal kind. The wrong kind. The engine ticked as it cooled. No passing cars. No streetlights. Just wind brushing through trees somewhere beyond the roadside.

Evan leaned forward slightly. “Okay… that’s not good, right?”

Coach Wiebe was already on his phone, speaking quietly to the driver.

Zane stood, looking toward the front. “What happened?”

The driver’s voice came back strained. “Engine issue. I think we’re dead in the water for a bit.”

That word, dead, made a few players exchange looks.

Wyatt muttered, “Love that phrasing. Very comforting.”

Ilya stood, calm but alert, scanning outside through the front windshield. The darkness pressed in on all sides.

Luca shifted in his seat. “We’re… in the middle of nowhere.”

Troy looked out the window. “There’s nothing out there.”

Shane removed his headphones fully now. “No service either.”

A few phones were checked. No signal. Coach Wiebe exhaled slowly. “Alright. Nobody panics.”

Evan raised a hand slightly. “Too late for that advice.”

That was when the silence outside seemed to press in harder, like the forest itself was listening. Ilya stepped slightly closer to the aisle. “It’s fine,” he said, steady. “We’re together. That’s what matters.”

Zane nodded once. “We wait for backup.”

Troy tried to lighten it. “Worst case, we all become wilderness survival experts.”

Evan whispered, “I watched one video on that once. I could maybe build a sad fire.”

Wyatt looked out the window again. “Why does it feel like we’re in a horror movie right now?”

Shane answered calmly, “Because we are in a bus. In the middle of nowhere. At night.”

Coach Wiebe spoke again from the front. “Stay inside. Stay calm.“

The players settled slightly, but the feeling didn’t fully leave. Outside, the forest remained still. Inside, the Centaurs stayed close, glancing at each other, counting heads without meaning to, grounding themselves in presence more than certainty.