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Good.

They should be nervous.

Today wasn’t about drills. It wasn’t about routines, about easy strides and soft plays.

Today was about pushing limits. Testing them. Breaking them. Making them hurt. Making her hurt.

I scanned the team, but my focus zeroed in on one person.

Iris.

She stood at the edge, chin lifted, brows furrowed, her mouth pressed into that stubborn little line that made something dark curl inside me.

Perfect.

I nodded toward her. “Evans.”

Her head snapped up. I caught the flicker of surprise before she smothered it with confidence.

“You ready to take it up a notch?”

A beat.

Then—that smirk. That sharp, defiant gleam in her eyes.

“Always.”

My own smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth, but it wasn’t amusement. It was a challenge.

She had no fucking clue what she’d just signed up for.

“Good.” I dragged the word out, rolling my shoulders as I let the tension settle, build, suffocate. “First drill—puck battles along the boards. Full-contact, just like before. No holding back. I want to see who actually wants this jersey.”

A murmur rippled through the team—some excited, some wary.

They should be.

This was where you found out who the fuck you were.

I watched as they paired off; the energy shifting. The air vibrated with anticipation, with something heavier, something brutal.

I paced along the boards, eyes cutting across each pair, watching the first collisions slam into the glass. Bodies crashed. Sticks clashed. The ice shuddered beneath their skates.

“Harder!” I barked. “Fight for it!”

Then I found her again.

Locked against Brooke—a scrappy, tough-as-nails player who didn’t give an inch.

I wanted to see her bleed for it.

I wanted to see if she’d crawl her way through hell and back to prove herself.

Brooke shoved her hard, body weight slamming into her like a wrecking ball. Iris hit the boards, sharp and sudden, but she didn’t flinch.

She held her ground.

Something ignited inside me.