The Phantoms' kitchen was flooded with soft morning light, the kind that made the hardwood floors look golden and turned dust motes into something magical. The open-plan layout spilled easily into the living room, where the TV murmured on low volume. But the heart of the house right now was the kitchen island.

Arya stood at the stove, barefoot, hair twisted up in a messy clip, flipping the last of the omelets onto a plate with the kind of casual precision that came from practice. She wore mismatched socks and hummed something faintly familiar, probably an old Fall Out Boy song, while the smell of caramelized onions and cheddar lingered in the air.

Tessa and Davina were perched on the island stools, nursing their coffee. Tessa wore her team hoodie, sleeves shoved halfway up her arms, her chin resting on her palm. Davina was in one of those sleek pajama sets she somehow made look editorial, sipping slowly from a mug that read World's Okayest Morning Person.

The vibe was slow. Easy. No rush, no plans, just three girls, some food, and the fading adrenaline of yesterday's win.

"We moved clean yesterday," Davina said finally, her voice still thick with sleep. She wasn't bragging, just stating the facts, sharp as ever. "Our spacing on the second rotation? Almost perfect."

"Tessa's block near the end bought me enough time to sweep center," Arya added, plating the food. "I'm still not sure how they didn't call you for that hip check, though."

"Because I'm a delight," Tessa said dryly, lifting her coffee. "And because their captain didn't stay down long enough to sell it."

Davina raised a brow. "You're lucky. If she'd dragged it out, they'd have called the foul."

"If she'd dragged it out," Tessa muttered, "she'd still be on the ice. She wasn't getting past me either way."

Arya placed a plate in front of each of them, sliding the forks in like she was serving royalty. "Eat before you collapse."

Tessa took a bite, let out a blissful groan, and pointed her fork at Arya. "You make eggs taste like they went to private school."

"It's Gruyère," Arya replied innocently. "And I toast the cumin before it hits the pan. Respect your omelets."

They ate in silence for a few moments, just the soft clink of forks and the muted hum of the TV in the background.

Then, Arya chewing a little slower, gaze drifting, broke the quiet.

"Hey... what'd you guys think of the Musketeer boys?"

Davina didn't look up from her plate. "Which ones?"

"The tall one who looks like he was built in a lab to emotionally devastate people in silence. The one with the grin that says 'trust me' and eyes that say 'you really shouldn't' And the one who looks like he could bench press me and still brood about it."

Tessa snorted into her coffee.

"Jordan," Arya clarified. "The smiley one. He said my shot was 'hot girl certified' and then told me his lucky number. I didn't ask, by the way."

"He was watching the game pretty closely," Davina said, casually. "His comments were... more technical than I expected. He noticed our set plays. That's rare."

"You're talking about Bennett," Arya said knowingly.

Davina took another sip. "I'm just saying. He's quiet, but he doesn't miss much."

"He's tall."

"So are streetlights. What's your point?" But Davina's lips twitched slightly, like she was trying not to smile.

"And Declan?" Arya prompted, leaning her elbows onto the counter.

Tessa didn't answer right away. She poked at her eggs. "He didn't talk much. But he helped Naomi carry her bag, even though she could've done it herself. That was... respectful."

Arya tilted her head. "So, Bennett stares. Declan carries. Jordan flatters." She gave a slow, satisfied nod. "We've got the full spectrum."

"We're not talking about them," Davina said, too quickly. "We're debriefing. Strategically."

"Right," Arya said with a grin. "Strategically. Like how Jordan's voice dropped an octave when he asked if I skate outside the rink."

"That's not strategy, babe," Tessa muttered. "That's flirting. And failing at it."

"Still worked."

The girls fell into laughter again, easy and bright, cutting through the lazy warmth of the morning.

Outside, the day waited patiently. But inside where the kitchen island hosted gossip, game analysis, and Gruyère omelettes something was starting.

Something new.