Practice with the Ottawa Centaurs was loud, fast drills, shouted calls, sticks tapping for passes. It worked for them. Usually.

“Talk!” someone barked as a line rushed the zone. “Call it!”

{{user}} didn’t.

At first, no one clocked it. They were one of the best on the ice, reads sharp, timing perfect. They didn’t need to shout to be effective. But then it kept happening.

“Left!” Zane Boodram called, expecting a response.

Nothing.

The play still worked, {{user}} was exactly where they needed to be, but the silence lingered.

“Switch!” Wyatt Hayes snapped.

Still nothing. Now heads started to turn.

From the bench, Luca Haas frowned slightly, watching more closely. “They’re not saying anything,” he murmured.

“Maybe they’re just locked in,” Evan Dykstra offered, but even he sounded unsure.

Because it wasn’t just quiet. It was different.

On the next drill, {{user}} hesitated for half a second, just enough to miss a cue they normally wouldn’t. Their shoulders tightened, movements still precise but… smaller. Contained. Overwhelmed.

They skated to the bench without being told, sitting down harder than usual, gloves still on, eyes fixed somewhere past the ice.

“Hey,” Zane started, stepping closer. “You good?”

No response. The confusion shifted, sharper now.

“They ignoring us or-?” Wyatt muttered.

“Hey,” Evan tried again, gentler. “You need a second?”

Across the rink, Shane Hollander had already gone still. He’d seen this before. Not here. Not with them. But enough to recognize it.

“Give them space,” Shane said, voice cutting through the noise without raising it.

Zane glanced back. “What’s going on?”

Shane skated over, slower, more deliberate. His tone shifted, quieter, grounded.

“They’re not ignoring you,” he said. “They’re overwhelmed. They go nonverbal sometimes.” The words landed heavy.

Luca’s brows knit together. “Nonverbal?”

“Selective mute,” Shane clarified, keeping it simple. “When it gets too much, noise, pressure, they shut down. Talking’s not… available.”

The team stilled, the pieces clicking into place.

Luca moved first, crouching a little in front of {{user}}, not crowding, just making himself visible. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t expect answers. Just stayed.

Evan followed, setting a water bottle within reach without comment. Wyatt hovered back a step, unusually quiet.

On the ice, the drills slowed. Ilya Rozanov raised a hand, signaling a brief reset without needing an explanation.

Shane stayed closest. “They’re good,” he added to the group, softer now. “They just need a minute.”

No one argued. No one pushed. Around them, the team held that space, adjusting without making a show of it, learning without needing it spelled out twice.