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Deacon slides into frame at the edge, silent and steady. I position them. Raise my phone. Snap the picture.

Three Brooklyn players and four Chicago players, standing together at JFK like the rivalry doesn't exist. It does. But violence off the ice doesn't belong to it.

I tap the screen and write the caption.

The Fight Stays On The Ice.

No hashtags. No explanation. I post it.

Jax steps closer, eyes on me. "You good?"

I nod once. "She's okay, so yes."

He looks past me toward Anna and gives her a short, respectful nod. She returns it, reserved but acknowledging.

He hands me my bag, and I sling it over my shoulder and step closer to the vehicle. Anna is still inside, framed by the open door, her face pale under the fluorescent airport lights.

"You need anything," I say, "DM me."

Her eyes narrow. She rolls them, but I catch the slight flare of heat that crosses her face before she looks away.

My jaw tightens. I force myself to turn and walk toward the terminal.

Behind me, I hear the vehicle door close. I pull my phone from my pocket, check the time, and shake my head.

Voices inside the vehicle carry all the way out here.

Lenzin says, "Hell no."

Anna responds sharply, "Never you mind."

Then I hear Kilovac. "That's a double hell no."

I don't turn around. I keep walking.

I stride into JFK with Jax, Lincoln, and Hayes running behind, no different from the travelers pushing through their own lives around us.

Jax glances back at me, eyebrows raised. "You think she's gonna DM?"

I shrug, keeping my expression neutral. "Right now, she's got stitches and a concussion. Better things to worry about than me."

Lincoln nudges me with his elbow, his grin teasing. "You pretty much told her to slide on in."

I give him a sidelong look. "And if she does? Right now, we got a plane to catch."

Hayes remains quiet, his gaze roaming over the milling crowd. He's the kind of captain who watches more than he speaks. I respect that. Right now, though, it feels like the entire team is watching me, waiting for some revelation that isn't coming.

We make our way through check-in and security. No delays. No drama. Just typical travel with the team, our bags tagged and ready for the flight to Dallas. Feels like a gift after tonight.

As we reach the gate, Cruz and Eli wave us over.

"Thought your Ukrainian ass was getting left behind in Brooklyn," Cruz jokes, his tone sharp but friendly.

"Never late.” I shoot back.

Eli gestures at the overhead screen displaying flight details. "Flights even on time."

I follow their gaze, watching the highlights of our game on the TV screen. I lock it down, turn away, and focus on tomorrow's game in Dallas.