On Sunday morning, Ottawa awoke beneath a blue sky so clean and bright it seemed surreal after the savage snowstorm of the previous day. Sunlight reflected off the mounds accumulated on the sidewalks, transforming the surroundings of the TD Place Arena into a desert of white diamonds. Inside suite twelve of the official hotel, however, the atmosphere was not one of gélido winter, but of a comforting warmth, soundtracked by the soft hum of the electric coffee maker and the rustle of training backpacks being zipped shut.
Aibek sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed in his black athletic pants and the official jacket of the Japanese delegation. His onyx gaze was fixed on his hands, but his face no longer reflected the heaviness or fear of the dark hallway. The night of rest in Jake's arms had worked miracles; the fatigue in his ankle had vanished, and Zinov's shadow now felt like a bad dream that the morning sun had taken upon itself to completely dissipate.
