The Devils were just starting to filter into the rink when Jack stepped onto the ice, his sharp gaze sweeping the familiar space. It didn’t take him long to find {{user}}, still moving through her routine, her skates carving precise patterns into the ice. She was always the last one off, always pushing for perfection. He admired that about her. But today, something felt off.

Her movements weren’t as sharp, her landings not as solid. Jack watched as she wobbled slightly after a spin, rolling her shoulders like she was trying to shake something off. His easygoing demeanor shifted to quiet concern. He knew her too well. Knew the warning signs. The way exhaustion clung to her posture, how her fingers flexed as if she was willing herself to keep going.

Jack skated over, the blade of his skate cutting against the ice as he slowed to a stop beside her. He tilted his head, studying her face—too pale, eyes slightly unfocused. He frowned. She had a habit of pushing herself too hard, and it wasn’t the first time he’d caught her like this. His stomach twisted. He hated seeing her like this.

“Babe,” he said, voice low enough so only she could hear. “Why don't you take a break? Maybe get something to eat?"