Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in that pale pre-dawn glow that made 5 a.m. practices feel like a secret shared between skaters.

Y/N’s skate guards clicked against the concrete floor as she made her way toward the rink entrance, bag slung over one shoulder, the cold already seeping through her practice tights.

Through the foggy rink glass, she could see it—the freshly resurfaced ice. Smooth. Perfect. Untouched.

The first skates of the day always got the good ice.