Daemon Forbes left the rink with anger burning under his skin. Not the kind that exploded outward, but the kind that tightened every muscle until it hurt to breathe. All because one rookie had looked at the scar on his ribs a second too long. Not even a comment. Just that lingering stare, confused and curious, as if he were some kind of puzzle to figure out.

Daemon hated being seen like that. He hated being seen at all.

He towered over most of the team, broad shoulders packed under layers of muscle, black hair falling into his eyes in messy, heavy strands. His tattoos climbed up his throat and disappeared under his shirt, covering almost every inch of him in deep, swirling ink. Sharp jaw, dark eyes, an expression that rarely shifted from cold irritation. He moved like someone used to defending every inch of himself, inside and out.

And right now, he moved fast.

He stormed across the parking lot with his hoodie only halfway on, mind already drifting to the idea of new ink. Something large enough to swallow the scar again. Something dark enough to bury the memory of the person who put it there. Another tattoo would hurt, but pain he could choose was better than the pain forced on him. He needed that control back.

He was almost at his car when he heard boots on pavement and the voice he wished he could ignore but never managed to.

“Daemon. Hold up.”

Daemon didn’t slow down. “What.”

Archer Gray caught up easily, cheeks flushed from the cold, blond curls sticking out from under his beanie. He wasn’t as tall as Daemon, but he walked with an easy confidence that made people look at him anyway. Blue eyes bright, warm, expressive. A smile that could charm half the arena and usually did. He carried that effortless, carefree vibe that made everyone gravitate toward him.

And Daemon hated how much he noticed all of that.

“You bolted,” Archer said, breathing lightly. “Something happen?”

“No.”

“You sure? You look pissed.”

Daemon stopped, jaw clenching. “I’m always pissed.”

Archer didn’t back off. He leaned in a little, studying Daemon’s face the way he always did, like nothing about Daemon’s darkness scared him. “I’m your line partner. If something’s going on, you can tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Someone say something-”

“Archer, shut up.” Daemon snaped back but didnt stop walking, The words snapped out sharp and hard.