Chapter 71

Five days had passed since that night with Garcia. That encounter had left me sore in places I had never imagined could ache so deeply. Garcia had been ruthless, every movement pushing me past my limits, marking me physically and emotionally. There was no denying it anymore: the man was a devil cloaked in wealth and desire. But I had no time to rest. Hockey practice didn't wait for bruises to fade, and classes wouldn't excuse me for aches I couldn't explain. So I endured. With ice packs hidden beneath my hoodie and painkillers dulling the worst, I walked the campus halls like a ghost—face pale, eyes shadowed, body stiff. I smiled when necessary, nodded when greeted, but kept my conversations short. No jokes, no locker room banter, no lingering after class. My friends noticed. More than once, Wes tried to corner me. "Zane, what's going on with you, man? You've been off all week." I would offer a shrug, mumble something about being tired or sore from practice, then slip away before quest