Prologue
The rink was always colder before sunrise.
Lyra tightened the straps on her skates until her fingers went numb, breath curling in front of her like smoke. The arena was supposed to be empty at this hour—quiet, predictable, hers.
Then came the scrape of blades.
She froze.
From the tunnel, a group of hockey players spilled onto the ice like they owned it. Loud voices echoed off the glass, gear bags thudding onto the benches. Among them was him.
Noah.
She’d seen him before—on posters, in highlights, in passing comments from coaches who said his name like a warning and a promise at the same time. But seeing him here, in her space, was different.
He didn’t look impressed by the rink.
He looked like he belonged in it.
“No figure skating practice today?” one of his teammates called out, laughing.
Lyra straightened slowly. “Last I checked, this rink isn’t yours.”
That got his attention.
Noah turned his head, gaze landing on her like a challenge being issued without words. He didn’t smile. Didn’t look away either.
“You’re in the way,” he said simply, as if that was fact, not opinion.
Lyra let out a short laugh. “Funny. I was here first.”
A beat of silence passed between them—sharp, measuring.
Then Noah pushed off, skating a slow circle that cut dangerously close to her space. Not touching. Not yet.
But close enough to make a point.
“Try not to fall,” he said as he passed.
Lyra’s jaw tightened. “Try not to crash.”
That was the first time he smiled.
And it made everything worse.
