"Sharp suits in the stands meant futures on the line."
The rink had a different energy tonight. It wasn't the usual Friday crowd noise or even the familiar sound of warm-up drills. Something sharper hung in the air, something that made everyone on the Yale bench sit a little straighter.
Silver felt it the second she pushed through the heavy doors.
Three men in dark coats occupied the top row of bleachers, clipboards balanced on their knees, pens ready. Even from across the rink, their presence commanded attention. Scouts. The kind who decided which college players got their shot at the pros and which ones stayed in New Haven forever.
She found a spot a few rows behind Americus and Riley, who were debating whether the concession stand's hot chocolate tasted better with whipped cream or marshmallows. Silver barely registered their conversation. Her attention locked onto the ice where the Bulldogs were running through their pregame routine.
