"Old instincts betrayed me."
Riley's words had been circling in Silver's mind for hours like a melody stuck on repeat, each revolution bringing a fresh wave of hope and doubt in equal measure. You know he cares, right? The possibility sat in her chest like a spark that refused to either ignite or die, leaving her restless and raw in her Gothic tower room while Americus slept peacefully in the bed across from hers.
By midnight, the silence had become unbearable. Silver found herself pulling on layers—thermal leggings under her practice pants, a Yale hockey sweatshirt she'd borrowed from Americus and never returned, thick socks that would cushion her feet inside her skating boots. The ritual of dressing for the rink felt like muscle memory, her hands moving through the familiar motions while her mind remained tangled in the emotional wreckage of the past few days.
