The chants still echoed in Silver's head long after the final buzzer had silenced the Whale. HA-YES! HA-YES! HA-YES! The rhythmic thunder of hundreds of voices followed her out into the crisp October night, through the stream of celebrating students pouring from Ingalls Rink, and all the way down the tree-lined streets toward the hockey house where post-game tradition demanded the team and half of campus continue the celebration until the early morning hours.
The temperature had dropped significantly since they'd entered the arena, autumn asserting its presence with the kind of sharp clarity that made every breath visible and turned cheeks pink within minutes of exposure. Street lamps cast golden circles of light across sidewalks scattered with fallen leaves, and the Gothic spires of Yale's residential colleges loomed against the star-filled sky like ancient sentinels watching over the nocturnal migration of students seeking post-victory festivities.
