Behind His Mask: My Hockey Alpha

(Rhea's POV)For some people, a painting is just art. But for me, it's peace—at least until an old painting arrived at the gallery this morning.I stared at it—“The Moon Painting”—now laid out on the restoration table. The canvas was aged, the colors dull, and some corners were starting to peel. But what had me frozen wasn't just its physical state. There was something about this painting that made me... feel strange. Like my heart would beat faster every time I gently brushed its surface.I’m Rhea Hale. A painting restorer. And since I was a kid, I’ve always had a sensitivity to old things. Some people call it intuition. My mom said I was “different.” But to me, it just means I often end up emotionally drained after working.Today I was alone in the restoration studio at Elaria Gallery. The afternoon light streamed in through the large windows, catching dust particles dancing in the air. “The Moon Painting” was set to be displayed at a charity event tomorrow at two. I was almost done

(Rhea's POV)I knew today was going to be a long one, but I didn’t expect every second of it to feel this strange.I tried to shake off my thoughts and quickly went to check the paintings on display before the guests started arriving.Out of all the pieces exhibited tonight, the Moon Painting always pulled at me the most. But for some reason, when I looked at it tonight, something felt... different.I only glanced at the canvas as I crossed the hall—but in that brief moment, I saw something. A pair of eyes in the painting shimmered, like they were reflecting actual moonlight.I froze. My steps halted.Was I hallucinating?My eyes scanned the room, hoping someone else had seen it too. The guests were still admiring the painting, but their faces looked normal. They were just smiling, nodding, or chatting about colors and techniques. No one looked surprised. No one seemed to notice what I just saw.My heart thudded unevenly in my chest.I forced myself to stay calm as I explained the Moo

(Rhea's POV)The rain hadn’t stopped when I stepped out of my apartment the next morning.Gray clouds hung low, pressing down on the rooftops. The cold air slipped through the gaps in the scarf wrapped around my neck, seeping all the way to my bones. My black umbrella blocked most of the downpour, but every splash bouncing off the street still managed to soak the hem of my pants and my shoes.My steps matched the rhythm of raindrops on the canvas—tap, tap, tap—but instead of calming me, the sound made my heartbeat race faster. Normally, I’d love a morning like this; the city quiet, the air fresh, the scent of wet earth mixing with the smell of coffee from cafes just opening. But today… something felt different.Something that had been sitting in my chest since last night.The phone in my pocket stayed silent.No message from Kaelan.Weird.Last night, he’d replied to my texts so fast, like he was just sitting there waiting for me to respond. Now, it’s like he vanished. And the strange

(Kaelan's POV)Rain covered the city like a curtain, hiding Elaria’s face behind mist and faded neon. The sound of water striking asphalt blended into one tangled rhythm, like a heart forced to run. Under that black umbrella, I stood too close to the only thing that still kept me sane—and the most dangerous thing I could ever touch—Rhea.“I can’t,” I said back then, when she asked me to let go of her arm. Not a poetic line, not a threat; just a shy truth, bitter, stuck on my tongue. Because with every tick of the clock, something was trying to take her away from me. My instincts knew it before my mind had the words.I loosened my grip seconds later—slowly, like pulling a hand away from an open wound. She looked at me; in her blue eyes, a small storm I couldn’t read. I tilted the umbrella, shifting my body slightly to the outer side of the sidewalk, placing myself between her and the street.“Let’s get to the car,” I said. “The safest place right now.”“What’s your definition of ‘safe’

(Kai’s POV)The door groaned. I stood. Feet grounded. The wolf in my bones clawed at my chest; my skin itched, my eyes began to burn. I took a breath—one, two—and let some of it in. My pupils stretched. More light bled into the world.Metal complained. The latch squeaked. I counted—wrench on the left, iron bar on the right. The entry path was narrow. One person would enter first, two waiting behind. The first was usually the one reeking of confidence. Hit his knee, snap his elbow, drag him in as a shield. Simple. The blood would get messy, but… not on Rhea.Then—click. The door cracked halfway open—enough to show a face. Not the raincoat man from the gallery. This one was younger; clean cheeks, gray eyes, a Sunday-school smile you’d believe until that same hand slipped something into your drink.“Good evening,” he said, pleasant. “We were sent to—”I smashed the wrench against the inside hinge before he could finish. The door shrieked, rebounded. He jolted, the back of his head cracki