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"I heard whispers." She took a careful sip of her coffee. "But the timeline accelerated. I expected at least another month before an announcement."

"How bad is it going to be?"

Stephanie appreciated that he didn't waste time with platitudes. "Darby & Darby gutted the California Blades' PR department last year. Replaced the entire communications team with twentysomethings tracking social algorithms. Half the staff gone, traditional media relationships torched."

"I get using numbers, but that's a garbage approach," he said, surprising her.

"Wait—are you telling me my favorite stat-man doesn't approve of their methods?" She raised an eyebrow. "I thought you'd be thrilled that the analytics revolution is finally here."

Marcus frowned. "Analytics should make the team better, not replace it. What they're describing sounds more like strip-mining than player development."

"Exactly." She leaned forward. "They're not interested in your research to make better hockey players, Marcus. They want to extract value. Players become assets, fans become data points, and everything—including your carefully constructed systems—gets twisted to serve their bottom line."

His expression darkened. "What's your read on why they're pushing me up?"

Direct as always. Stephanie respected that about him, even when it drove her crazy.

"On the surface, they're giving you the keys to the kingdom. But read between the lines—they don't care about your hockey insights. They want your system. Once they extract that, add it to their algorithm..." She let the implication hang.

Marcus studied her, his dark eyes intense behind his glasses. "You really believe in what you do."

"Of course I do. Don't you?"

"Yeah. But I believe in it because it works on the ice." He tilted his head slightly. "You believe in it because of what it means to people."

"The human connection IS the point," she countered. "Hockey isn't just about stats, Marcus. It's about the kid who falls in love with the game watching Kane score a clutch goal. It's about the community that rallies around this team when New Haven needs something to cheer for. It's about—"

"Hope," he finished unexpectedly. "Long shots becoming winners. I get it."

Stephanie stared at him, momentarily speechless. "That's... actually a perfect way to put it."

A hint of a smile touched his lips, transforming his usually serious face. She'd seen him smile maybe three times in the year they'd worked together, and each time it hit her with unexpected force.

"I see what you do. I just come at it from a different angle."

The moment stretched between them, something shifting in their usual dynamic. She cleared her throat, suddenly aware of how intensely they were staring at each other.

"So where does that leave us?"

"We've got three plays." Marcus set down his coffee. "One, we fight each other for influence with the new ownership—which ends with both of us getting benched."

That earned a reluctant smile from her. "Sounds about right."

"Two, we each do our own thing, ignore what they want—resulting in one or both of us getting traded within six months."

"Also not ideal," she agreed.

"Three, we run a set play together that keeps your storytelling while backing it with my numbers." He met her eyes directly. "Much better odds than options one or two."

Stephanie considered him thoughtfully. "Are you proposing we work together?"

"I'm proposing we join lines since we're both about to get checked into the boards."

"Wow, you really know how to sweet-talk a girl," she deadpanned.

To her surprise, a genuine smile broke through his usual reserve. "Sweet-talking wouldn't work on someone with your bullshit detector."

"Was that... a compliment buried in an insult wrapped in hockey-speak?"

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