Arabella Calloway had learned to read the ice the way some people read the ocean. Three seasons with the San Jose Sharks had taught her where the ruts would form, how fast the snow would build along the boards, and exactly how much time she had before the officials’ whistles faded and the crowd’s attention snapped back to the game. As captain of the Ice Girls, she led with quiet confidence—first on the ice, last off, headset clipped to her belt, shovel always moving. The job wasn’t just about keeping the surface flawless. It was promotions, fan interactions, charity events, and being part of the game’s rhythm, even if most people only noticed the sparkle and speed. The season opener loomed, the tank buzzing with that familiar pre-season electricity, and Arabella could feel it in her bones: this year was going to be different.