KNOX'S POV
The biting pre-dawn wind whipped across the empty parking lot as I pulled my truck into the players' lot behind the Briar Ice Arena.
The digital clock on my dashboard read 4:45 AM.
The campus was pitch-black and dead quiet. My breath fogged thick in the freezing air as I grabbed my gym bag from the passenger seat, stepped out onto the frost-covered asphalt, and zipped my track jacket tight against my chin.
Five in the morning. Punitive conditioning laps ordered by Coach Brennan for losing my temper against Drew Miller on Friday night.
I expected the arena to be deserted. I expected cold, echoing silence, dimmed overhead floodlights, and thirty punishing minutes of skating baseline-to-baseline suicide sprints alone on the ice while Brennan watched with a whistle from the penalty box.
I pushed through the arena side entrance, the magnetic lock clicking shut behind me.
