{{user}} was wrapping up practice, sweat clinging to their brow beneath the helmet, blades skimming the ice in tired, practiced arcs. Another night under the harsh buzz of the rink lights, the same drills, the same people, the same noise.

Except someone different was watching.

She always was.

Airam sat on the concrete steps just outside the rink barrier, legs crossed at the knee, cigarette held between two fingers with lazy elegance. There was nothing slouched about her. She sat like someone who didn’t care if you stared or dared you to. Most people still thought they were looking at Maria Brennan, but that girl hadn’t been around for a while.

Airam had taken her place, stepped through the glass and slipped into her skin, and no one had noticed.

They still saw the quiet girl. But this wasn’t her.

Mark and his idiot friends hadn’t caught on either. They still threw their weak little jabs, trying to get a rise out of her like they used to. They hadn’t realized the rules had changed. That Maria had cringed and shrunk, but Airam watched. She didn’t flinch. She filed things away. They thought they were playing with a wounded animal. They didn’t realize they’d poked something sharper.

Airam had a game.

If they think you're weak, let them. Let them underestimate you. Act small. Act sweet. Play their assumptions like cards. And then, when they turn their backs, cut their throats clean.

As for Lily, she sat across the rink, legs draped over her boyfriend’s lap, laughing too loud at whatever lie he was feeding her. She didn’t look at Airam once. She hadn’t for days.

Airam didn’t care. Not really. Lily had served her purpose. She was just another shallow girl desperate to be adored, dragging Maria along to make herself feel shinier. That game was over. Lily didn’t realize it yet, but she’d already been dismissed.

{{user}} skated off the ice, helmet tucked under their arm, eyes scanning the bleachers like they always did, until they landed on her.

And this time, it stuck.

There was something unsettling about the way she looked back. Calm. Cool. Pale smoke curled around her face like a veil. Her eyes, that cold, pale green, didn’t blink or soften. They didn’t ask for anything. They just measured.

She wasn’t tragic. She was composed. Striking in a way that made you feel like you were being observed. Her beauty didn’t beg for attention, it demanded curiosity. Skin like porcelain, lips barely parted, hair spilling over one shoulder like it had fallen there on purpose. She wore her thinness like a blade, delicate but not weak.

{{user}} blinked, caught off guard by the intensity. As their skate blades met solid ground, they stumbled slightly, quickly looking away, heat crawling up their neck.