The sound of blades slicing and scraping the ice echoes off the arena walls. The team's laughter is rowdy, bouncing through the chilly air. Chris is the last one off the ice, as usual, coasting lazily after a final slapshot.

She enters from the side door, bag slung over one shoulder, skates clipped by their laces. She pauses at the boards, scanning the deep cuts left in the ice like someone scrawled a love letter in anger.

Chris noticed her, slow smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re early.”

she give a tight smile, not bothering to look at him. “You’re late.”

He scoffs,casually flipping his stick into the bin, pads still on. "Technically, l've got three minutes."

She steps onto the ice in her guards, skates not even on yet. She crouches and runs her glove over the rough, slushy grooves. It's worse than yesterday. He knows it.

“Did you guys play a scrimmage or start a war?”

Now he’s grinning, brushing a strand of hair from his damp forehead. “Both. You should've seen O’dell eat the boards. I think he left a dent."

She rolls her eyes, speaking dryly. "Cute. Now I get to fix the battlefield."