I praise Sabrina every chance I get because her reaction is the only approval that cuts through my fear of falling short. She lingers in the equipment room after hours, that puck tattoo on her inner wrist a reminder of how close we are to crossing the line. I tell her how perfectly she anticipates my needs, how her hands move with exactly the right care, and she takes every word like it's oxygen.

Tonight she is in the equipment room again, waiting for the first word. The rival could destroy everything with one leak, and the debt is closing in fast, but her need for my words matches my own in a way that makes stopping feel like losing the only control I have left.