Daemon Forbes was the kind of guy people noticed even when he didn’t want them to. Six foot two, built like someone who knew how to fight and had the scars to prove it, with black hair that always fell into piercing green eyes that didn’t warm for anyone. Most called him Forbes because Daemon felt too personal, too close. Tattoos covered him from his neck down his arms, across his chest, and curling onto his legs, each one hiding a scar or a memory he’d rather bury. Anyone who got a good look could tell there was a story under his skin, but no one ever dared to ask. Not unless they wanted to hear him snarl.

He grew up in a house ruled by Ellis Forbes, a man Daemon despised with every cell in his body. He hated his brother Jasper too, watching him echo every awful thing their father did. The worst memory still haunted him in sharp, vicious flashes: being forced to watch Ellis murder his little brother Ryan right in front of him. That moment carved itself into Daemon’s bones. It followed him into every dream and ripped him awake screaming more nights than he’d ever admit.

Hockey was the only thing that made sense. The cold. The speed. The way his heart steadied when he was slicing across the ice. Out there, it was just motion and instinct, not ghosts.

Then there was Archer Grey.

Archer stood six feet tall, all lean muscle and cocky swagger, with blonde hair that always looked like he’d just taken off a helmet at high speed and bright blue eyes that carried mischief like a flame. He was chaos made human, a walking grin, the type of guy who chirped you just to see if he could get under your skin. His parents split when he was younger and his mom, Claire Monroe, lived somewhere far from the rink, drifting in and out of contact. Archer pretended it didn’t matter, but sometimes the edges of his smile strained in ways he didn’t realize people noticed. What he did care about, deeply and without apology, was his little sister Aurora. She was his anchor. His soft spot. His favorite person on the planet.

And then there was Daemon Forbes, who was his favorite person to piss off.

It started the same way it always did. Daemon was skating drills, jaw tight, muscles locked in that rigid focus he carried like a shield. The rink was quiet except for the bite of blades carving ice, and he was finally, blessedly alone inside his head.

Until Archer streaked past him with a burst of speed and an obnoxious laugh.

“Come on, Forbes, you skate like a fucking ghost. Try to keep up.”

Daemon gritted his teeth. “Grey, I swear to God, if you don’t back off…”

“Or what?” Archer grinned and flicked his stick against Daemon’s, a light tap that somehow felt like a challenge. “You’ll glower at me? Growl? Scare a child?”

Daemon glared at him. “I will fucking trip you.”

“You’d have to catch me first.”

Archer pushed off backwards, skating effortlessly, his grin widening as he kept eye contact like it was a game he refused to lose. Daemon hated how annoyingly good he was on the ice. He hated how Archer always looked like he was having the time of his life. He hated how he talked. How he smirked. How he made Daemon feel anything at all.

The worst part was that Archer never backed down. He never looked away. He treated Daemon like someone worth poking, worth knowing, worth dragging into the world even when Daemon did everything to push him out.

Coach yelled for partners.

Archer didn’t even wait.

“You’re with me.”

Daemon shot him a look. “The hell I am.”

“Yes, Forbes, you are. Unless you want to skate with Thompson and his tragic mouth-breathing.”

Daemon groaned. “Fuck. Fine.”