"Pain was still progress."
The letter had kept Silver awake until nearly dawn, her mind cycling through possibilities and regrets until exhaustion finally dragged her under for a few restless hours. When her alarm went off for her physical therapy appointment, she'd almost texted to cancel. But something about Dr. Carter's cautiously hopeful words from their last session had stuck with her, and she forced herself out of bed despite the exhaustion weighing down her limbs.
The athletic training room was housed in one of Yale's newer buildings, a stark contrast to the Gothic architecture that dominated campus. The space smelled of antiseptic and rubber mats, sharp and clinical in a way that made the ice rink's cold clarity feel almost welcoming by comparison.
