Chapter 23: Secrets Under Ice

Aveline’s POV

Crestwood Academy looked different at night, during the day the school pretended to be polished perfection, legacy students, championship banners, expensive smiles and expensive scandals hidden beneath designer uniforms, but at night the place felt haunted, the hockey arena especially, cold air curled through the empty corridors as I slipped past the darkened locker rooms, my footsteps almost silent against the concrete floor, the rink lights were off except for the faint emergency glow reflecting across the ice, everything echoed here, every breath, every movement, every bad decision, which meant I was definitely in the right place.

I checked the hallway again before crouching beside the old storage door near the back equipment tunnel, Theo had mentioned it accidentally earlier that week, old equipment room, unused for years, mostly broken gear and forgotten junk, which in the Crestwood language probably meant buried crimes, the lock was already half broken, interesting, I shoved the door harder until it creaked open.

Dust hit me instantly, the room smelled like rust, sweat, and old tape, metal shelves lined the walls, torn practice jerseys hung from hooks, broken sticks piled in corners, a flickering bulb overhead cast uneven shadows across the cramped space, I stepped inside slowly, something about the room felt wrong, not abandoned, hidden, my pulse quickened, this mattered, I could feel it, I started searching immediately, boxes, drawers, equipment bags, most of it was useless at first, expired medical tape, old tournament schedules, ruined skates, then I found the phones, three of them, cracked screens, dead batteries, one had dried blood near the edge, I froze.

What the hell?

I picked one up carefully, the screen shattered beneath my thumb, destroyed, like someone wanted something erased, a bad feeling crawled down my spine, I kept digging, underneath an old pile of jerseys I found a black binder stuffed with loose papers and printed photographs, my heartbeat slowed, then sped up harder.

Hazing records, secret ones, names, dates, punishments, humiliations, some written like jokes, others looked terrifying, one page read FIRST YEARS CLEAN LOCKER ROOMS IN UNDERWEAR, another LOSE DRILL = ICE BATH, another NO SNITCHING, my stomach twisted, this wasn’t harmless team bonding, this was organised cruelty.

I turned another page, photos slipped out, boys kneeling on locker room floors, players duct taped to benches, bruised faces, drunk teenagers unconscious with humiliating words written across their skin, I stopped breathing because one of the photos had Asher in it, my brother stood near the back of the locker room wearing the Titan mascot head under one arm, he looked uncomfortable, nervous, watching something off camera.

My fingers tightened around the photo.

What happened here?

Another picture showed Cassian younger, blood running down his mouth while another player shoved him against the lockers, but Cassian wasn’t fighting back, he looked furious, humiliated, murderous, I stared harder then noticed Oliver Thorne standing behind him, healthy, smiling, before whatever destroyed his hockey career happened, my chest tightened, the stories weren’t matching anymore, none of this looked simple.

I turned another page quickly and found a familiar chain tangled between the papers, silver, broken clasp, my breath caught instantly, Asher’s chain, the one he always wore, the one Mom said disappeared weeks ago, why was it here?

I grabbed it carefully.

Something sharp scraped the back of my neck suddenly.

I spun around.

Cassian Thorne stood in the doorway.

My heart stopped.

Tall, silent, terrifying, the hallway light behind him cast shadows across his face, sharpening every hard edge, he looked like violence wrapped in expensive black clothing, and he was staring directly at me, no expression, no surprise, as he’d known I would come here eventually.

“Well,” he said quietly.

I stepped backwards immediately.

Cassian shut the door behind him, the click echoed, and panic climbed my throat.

“What are you doing here?” I snapped.

Cassian leaned against the doorway casually.

“You first.”

“I asked first.”

“And I ignored it first.”

Instead, I shoved the binder behind my back. His eyes flicked toward it instantly.

Cassian noticed everything.

“You’ve gotten reckless,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” he said softly, “when you are caught sneaking around places like this.” you will be greatly punished

I forced a shrug.

“Well little punishment won't hurt "

Cassian stared at me too long. Then his eyes dropped to the photo still half visible beside my shoe. “You shouldn’t touch things you don’t understand,” he said.

“Then explain them.”

His jaw tightened.

“You really don’t remember anything?” he asked quietly.

“What exactly am I supposed to remember?”

Cassian pushed away from the door.

“You just like pretending I know that you gave up the act already .”

My pulse stumbled.

Cassian’s eyes flicked toward the broken chain in my hand. Then toward the photos. Then back to my face.

“You’re digging into things that have long been buried .”

"What the hell."

Something flickered across his face.

“You won't find nothing” he said quietly.

“That sounds exactly like something guilty people say.”

His expression sharpened instantly. “You think you understand this team?” Cassian asked softly. “You think you know what happened here?”

“Yeah, I know which team doesn't have one .”

Cassian reached past me suddenly, I flinched automatically, his hand paused briefly then grabbed an old helmet instead, his mouth twitched slightly.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

I didn’t believe him.

Voices echoed outside.

Cassian’s head turned sharply.“Shit.”

“The security rounds,” he muttered.

Panic slammed into me.

Cassian grabbed my wrist and pulled me behind the shelving unit just as flashlight beams swept past the door window, I crashed against his chest, warm, solid, too close, Cassian pressed one hand against the shelf beside my head, the guard paused outside, light flickering beneath the door, I stopped breathing, Cassian stayed perfectly still, calm, controlled, the handle rattled once, locked, footsteps faded.

I exhaled shakily.

Cassian looked down at me.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he murmured.

“No you don’t.” I shoved away from him I grabbed the chain and photos.

Cassian opened the door slowly.

“I wonder why you are digging for all these when you already know about most of them,” he said quietly, “And you have already been through worse but you should stop regardless.”

Then he looked back at me and a slow smirk spread across his face.