Chapter 3 - A Familiar Face

"Save some energy for the rest of us, man."

Lucas leans against the boards, an energy bar dangling from his lip, watching Elias run relentless backhand drills. Elias's hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, his body moving with the intense focus of someone who genuinely enjoys his own suffering.

"Half the women in Toronto would pay good money just to watch you train like this," Lucas adds cheerfully.

Elias doesn't even look up, sending the puck snapping off the boards with terrifying, clean precision.

Minutes later in full-contact practice, Tyler Grant deliberately throws a heavy shoulder-check into Elias's chest. The impact violently bounces right back. Tyler stumbles, grabbing the boards to steady himself, staring at his own trembling arm.

"What the hell, Elias? Are you made of reinforced steel?"

Rick Eaton watches quietly from the crease, an amused twitch at the corner of his mouth giving him away.

By the time they hit the locker room, the air is thick with the scent of damp gear and Tyler's endless chatter. Outside the frosted exterior window, a cluster of girls presses their phones against the pane.

"New fans at the window," Rick notes flatly.

Elias pulls his dark hoodie over his head without a word, his jaw tight.

"With Claire gone, they're getting bolder," Lucas points out, dropping his voice as he crouches beside Elias. "Nobody dared compete with her for your attention."

He pauses, his tone turning conspiratorial. "Hey. Heard we're getting a new team physio. From overseas. Supposed to be an actual prodigy."

Elias's fingers freeze on his skate laces for a fraction of a second before pulling them tighter than necessary. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Caught the assistant coach talking to Professor Williams." Lucas flashes a grin. "Maybe this mystery girl can finally fix that shoulder of yours before it becomes a real problem."

Elias doesn't reply. He stands, snaps his chest plate shut, and pulls his helmet on. Behind the cage, something in his gray-blue eyes shifts—a cold, subtle lockdown.

Afternoon practice is brutal by design. Every drill is built around bone-rattling contact that forces old injuries to either adapt or loudly announce themselves.

Elias's right shoulder announces itself with a vengeance. A sharp, electric surge of agony shoots down his arm. His jaw locks. Swallowing the pain, he doesn't break stride. He cuts sharply left, accelerates through an impossible gap, and buries the puck cleanly into the net.

"That's my guy!" Lucas punches the air. "That's why he's MVP!"

The adrenaline of that flawless shot carries him through the rest of the day, but by the time Elias finally leaves the facility, the sun is low, casting a long, amber glow over the pavement. He mechanically signs a notebook for a fan and smoothly declines the team's dinner invitation.

He needs solitude. Sitting alone in the corner of a dining hall, his poutine growing cold, he stares at his phone.

[Anderson]: Latest MRI shows increased shoulder inflammation. You need to rest.

He stares at the text for one second before swiping. Deleted.

He opens his training stats instead. Shooting accuracy 87%. Skating speed up 0.3 seconds. He memorizes the cold numbers, the only things he completely trusts right now.

But the silence is suffocating. Pulling his cap low, he pushes away from the table and steps out into the bustling evening crowd, preferring the city's chaotic motion over sitting with his own thoughts.

Wandering aimlessly, he nears the main transit stop when his gaze abruptly snags on a figure across the street, drawn by an invisible pull.

Brown hair in a clean ponytail, white shirt, dark jeans, heavy grocery bags in both hands. She stands at the curb reading the transit map, her delicate profile catching the dying evening light.

Elias's strides slow completely of their own accord.

Her profound stillness amidst the moving city violently pulls at something deep within his chest. He's still trying to place the overwhelming familiarity when she suddenly turns, as if physically feeling the heavy weight of his attention.

Their eyes meet directly across the busy street. Her gaze is dark and clear, completely devoid of recognition. She holds his stare with a calm, level intensity that makes his blood hum.

It's her.

The girl from the escalator. The realization slams into his ribs before logic catches up.

Suddenly, a city bus roars through the intersection, violently shattering the line of sight. When it clears a second later, the stop is entirely empty. She's gone, swallowed by the crowd.

Elias stands paralyzed at the corner for one beat longer than he should.

Twice, he thinks, a muscle feathering along his jaw. In three days.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, forces his legs to move, and fiercely tells himself it means absolutely nothing.

***

Saturday morning, Mia wakes up to the smell of bacon.

She opens her bedroom door and finds the kitchen already in full production—Ellie at the stove.

"Morning, sleepyhead!" Ellie slides a plate toward her. "Eat fast. We have a full day."

"Ellie, you didn't have to do all this—"

"Campus is huge and we're doing the whole thing." Ellie drops into her chair. "You need fuel."

Mia sits down and doesn't argue further.

The day turns into a whirlwind campus tour—a blur of Gothic spires, red ivy, and lampposts draped in bold Raiders banners. Ellie delivers rapid-fire commentary on architecture and faculty gossip.

Thanks to three days of Ellie's enthusiastic briefings, she now knows the Raiders roster better than she knows most pharmacological charts.

They cut through the main green, past clusters of students in Raiders caps and hoodies and full jerseys, and find a bench near the medical library to rest.

Two girls on a picnic blanket nearby are deep in conversation.

"—he actually signed my jersey after practice. Up close, his eyes are even more—"

"Did you see the locker room photo going around? Someone leaked it and honestly I'm not even sorry—"

Ellie catches Mia's eye and mouths, without sound: The city's religion.

Mia smiles and goes back to her campus map. She marks the lab building, the library access points, the route to the affiliated hospital. She is here to work. She has a placement starting in October, a research project to develop, and a very clear sense of professional priorities.

The fact that she'd looked at that championship photo for slightly longer than was strictly necessary is not relevant to any of the above.

By evening, exhausted but satisfied, they settle into a corner booth at a local sushi spot.

"Professor Williams is strict but fair," Ellie explains around a mouthful of sushi. "He's the mastermind behind the clinical partnership with the Raiders."

That's probably where he met Dad, Mia thinks softly. Williams wasn't just her academic supervisor—he was her golden ticket into the Raiders' elite medical team.

"Speaking of the Raiders," Ellie drops her voice conspiratorially. "They won last night. Which means tonight, they'll probably be out celebrating at The Blade."

"Mm," Mia hums noncommittally, sipping her water to mask the involuntary shift in her expression.

Dinner wraps up shortly after, followed by a quick detour to stock up on apartment essentials. The cool, golden evening air is incredibly refreshing as they step outside the local supermarket, their hands full of groceries.

Suddenly, Ellie stops dead, slapping her forehead. "My purse! I left it at checkout. Don't move!" She sprints back inside.

Left standing alone at the bus stop curb, Mia laughs quietly. Holding the heavy bags, she steps closer to the shelter glass to study the transit map, the streetlamp illuminating her profile.

For a fleeting second, the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. A strange, heavy sensation washes over her—the undeniable weight of someone's intense gaze from across the street. She instinctively turns her head, her dark eyes scanning the intersection.

But before she can focus on the shadowy figure on the opposite pavement, a massive city bus roars aggressively between them, breaking her line of sight.

"Got it!" Ellie bursts back out of the supermarket, grabbing Mia's arm without slowing down, and they jump onto the bus.

As the bus pulls away into the chaotic city, Mia takes a deep breath and smiles.

Yes, she thinks. This is going to be okay.

She manages to think it without the phantom gravity of a pair of stormy gray-blue eyes lingering in the back of her mind.

Mostly.