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The puck drops and Elias wins it clean.

Cole collects it immediately, pushes it back toward Nico, and from there the three of them turn the final seconds into keep-away. No hero play. No desperate shot. Just fast, controlled movement as Brooklyn chases, reaches, misses, and loses another second every time the puck changes sticks.

Eight.

Six.

Four.

I barely realize I’ve stopped breathing.

Two.

The horn sounds.

For one suspended second, everything in front of me seems to freeze.

Then the arena detonates.

The Reapers bench empties. Players pour over the boards, sticks flying into the air as red-and-black jerseys collide in a pile around the crease. Jace is screaming somewhere in the middle of it. Elias has both arms around Cole and is laughing like a lunatic. Shane disappears completely under three defensemen and what might be Nico.

I’m shooting as fast as the camera will let me, trying to catch pieces of something too big to fit into a frame.

Then Matteo finds me.

Only for a second.

His helmet is crooked, his face flushed, eyes wild with adrenaline as he looks straight through the glass at me.

And smiles.

Then somebody crashes into him from behind and he disappears into his team again.

I lower the camera just enough to watch.

They did it.

As the celebration explodes across the ice I keep shooting, moving along the glass to catch every moment I can. In the middle of the chaos I manage to capture Cole and Matteo bumping helmets, hands locked on the sides of each other’s heads for a second as they grin. It’s raw and beautiful — pure joy after everything that went down between them. I press the shutter and know immediately that picture is going to be one of my favorites.

From the bench Damian lets out a bark that cuts through the noise. “YES! Those are my boys!”

I snort behind the camera. Even now, even after everything, he’s still their coach first.

Later that night, the celebration spills into a club.

Red and blue lights sweep over the dance floor while the bass hits hard enough to vibrate through the table. There are bottles everywhere, shots appearing faster than anyone can reasonably drink them, and half the team is already behaving like advancing to the Finals has temporarily removed all consequences from their lives.

They have three days before they need to become professional athletes again.

Apparently tonight doesn’t count.

I’m sitting with Zara near the edge of the dance floor, nursing a drink and watching the disaster unfold. Elias has somehow ended up on Damian’s lap again, Nico is encouraging behavior he absolutely should be discouraging, and Jace is attempting something that might technically qualify as dancing if nobody looks directly at him.

Mostly, though, I’m watching Matteo.

He’s right in the middle of everything, laughing while Cole shoves at him and somebody tries to pull him into whatever terrible group dance they’ve invented. For the first time since I showed up in Ravensburg, there’s nothing guarded about him. No tension in his shoulders, no second-guessing every look or touch or thought that crosses his mind.

He just looks happy.