Chapter 55: The First Glitch

Opening night should have felt like a victory.

Instead, the air inside Rogers Arena carried a quiet tension no one could ignore. The crowd was loud, but not relaxed. Every cheer had a trace of uncertainty behind it, like people were waiting for something to go wrong.

On the ice, the game itself was almost too perfect.

Passes connected effortlessly. Players moved with precision that bordered on unnatural. Even the puck seemed to glide more cleanly than it should, as if the surface beneath it was helping—guiding.

By the third period, people had started to believe again.

Maybe it was over.

Then it happened.

A defenseman pivoted near the blue line, shifting his weight to transition backward. It was a routine move—one he’d done thousands of times.

His skate didn’t slip.

It simply… lost contact.

For a fraction of a second, there was nothing beneath him.

He went down hard.

The whistle blew immediately, the sharp sound cutting through the arena as players pulled back. At first, no one saw anything unusual. The ice looked intact—smooth, unbroken.

Then a ripple passed under the surface.

Fast. Subtle. Gone in an instant.

But everyone had seen it.

---

At the cabin, Finn sat up before the broadcast even replayed the fall.

Liam followed a heartbeat later, both of them suddenly alert.

Alex was on his feet immediately. “What is it?”

Finn pressed a hand to his chest, concentrating. “One place… wrong.”

“Where?” Jake asked, already reaching for his jacket.

Liam’s gaze unfocused slightly, as if he were listening to something far away. “…Vancouver.”

Lucien pulled the live feed onto the main screen, studying it closely. “Does it feel like before?” he asked.

Finn shook his head.

“No,” Liam said quietly. “Not hurting.”

Finn added, “Confused.”

That made Jake pause.

“Confused?” he repeated.

Lucien’s expression tightened. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

Brody leaned against the wall. “I’m guessing that’s bad.”

Lucien didn’t look away from the screen. “The system the twins created relies on connection. Everything stabilizes everything else.” He zoomed in on the ice. “If something is acting alone…”

He didn’t finish the thought.

He didn’t need to.

---

By the time they reached the arena, it had already been cleared. The crowd was gone, replaced by a controlled stillness—security, officials, and a handful of staff standing well back from the ice.

Jake stepped onto the surface first.

“Alright,” he said, scanning the rink. “Show me.”

Finn and Liam moved forward more slowly. This time, they didn’t reach out right away. They listened.

Felt.

Waited.

Finn stopped near the blue line and pointed. “There.”

At first, nothing happened.

Then the ice flickered.

Not visibly—not in a way the eye could fully track. It was more like something skipped, like a single frame of reality had been removed.

Jake took a step back. “Yeah. That’s not normal.”

Lucien walked closer, his gaze fixed on the exact spot. “That’s not structural failure,” he said under his breath.

Alex frowned. “Then what is it?”

The surface shifted again—longer this time.

A thin section, no wider than a skate blade, simply wasn’t there for a split second.

No crack.

No break.

Just… absence.

Finn’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It doesn’t know how to be.”

The words hung in the air.

Another flicker—wider now. The empty space stretched, unstable, as if it were trying to exist and failing at the same time.

Liam took a small step forward. “It’s trying,” he said. “But it’s not connected.”

Jake glanced at Lucien. “So fix it.”

Lucien shook his head slightly. “You don’t fix something like this by force. If you push too hard, you might erase it completely.”

Jake looked back at the ice, then at the twins.

“Then we don’t push,” he said. “We teach.”

Finn and Liam exchanged a quick glance, understanding passing between them without words.

They stepped forward together.

The ice beneath their feet shimmered faintly, reacting—not resisting, not breaking, but uncertain.

Alive, but unfinished.

For the first time since this all began, they weren’t facing something hostile.

They were facing something incomplete.

And if they got it wrong—

it wouldn’t just crack the ice.

It would remove it.

---

The empty patch flickered again, larger now, spreading in uneven pulses.

Unstable.

Learning.

Or unlearning.

Jake didn’t move this time.

He stayed right where he was.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Let’s show it how this works.”

Finn knelt slowly, Liam beside him.

They reached toward the surface—

not to control it.

Not to override it.

But to guide it.

The moment their hands touched the ice—

the flickering stopped.

For one second.

Two.

Then the void surged.

Something new had appeared.

Not an enemy.

Not an ally.

Something that didn’t understand existence itself.

And now—

it was reacting to them.