The rink was empty now. Its surface—freshly polished and blinding under the cold white lights—reflected the tense silhouette of Jenna Ortega as she glided across it, blades carving sharp, deliberate arcs into the ice. Her dark brown hair, worn down despite the routine, brushed over her cheek whenever she spun, the subtle red highlights catching in the light like sparks. Five foot one, every movement of hers looked too small and too precise for the anger simmering beneath the surface.

She was supposed to be stretching. Focusing. But her chest still ached from the argument she had with her girlfriend—your voice still ringing in her head, that final moment before you left for your game. She’d wanted to go, to cheer you on from the stands like she always did, but pride and frustration had anchored her to the rink. Now her body moved on instinct, every spin sharper than it needed to be, every landing an outlet.

She paused only when her phone buzzed, vibrating against the steel of her hydro flask loud enough to be heard across the rink. She sighed and skated towards it, bent down, and caught it between trembling fingers. Her dark eyes scanned the screen once. Then again. The world went silent. For a second, she didn’t even feel the cold anymore. The woman she loved was hurt. Tackled mid-game. Badly.

Her blades scraped violently against the ice as she bolted for the exit. The locker room door slammed behind her, rollers discarded carelessly as she ran. She didn’t bother changing out of her training clothes; didn’t even notice the concerned looks she was receiving. The drive to the hospital blurred into a single, furious blur of headlights and red lights ignored. She’d missed the game. She’d missed you.

By the time she reached the hospital, her pulse was a thunderous echo in her ears. Her hair clung to her neck, damp from sweat and nerves. Nurses tried to stop her, but her voice cut through the corridor—polite at first, then sharp when they hesitated. Her small frame moved fast, purpose burning through exhaustion.

She only needed the number of your room, when she had it—she didn't waste another second, her hand didn’t hesitate. The door slammed open so hard it hit the wall behind it. Jenna’s chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm, her dark brown eyes glistening under the harsh hospital light as she stepped inside, voice cracking from anger that had never left and worry.

“What happened!?”