The Wolves won 4-3 and returned to 7-7.
In the room, the game puck went to Luca for the winning assist.
He tried to hand it to Finn.
Finn threw it back. "I have pucks. Apparently you have recently discovered passing. Commemorate the event."
Laughter moved through the room. Luca held the puck while Vale spoke about response, structure, and the difference between surviving pressure and using it.
Rowan's stall stayed empty.
Media arrived. Luca answered questions about the decisive play.
"When did you know you would pass?" one reporter asked.
"When it became the better option."
"Did Hale's injury change what you felt you had to do?"
Luca looked toward the closed treatment-room door.
"It changed what all of us had to do," he said. "No one player replaces him. We trusted the next person."
After media left, Priya crossed the room and gave the team the approved version. Lower-body injury. Imaging pending. Rowan stable and going home with instructions not to load the leg.
Luca did not ask to see him.
That was the difficult part of a boundary: it remained real when the person on the other side was hurt.
He showered. Dressed. Put the game puck in his bag.
When he entered the service corridor, Rowan waited near the medical exit in the team jacket, one crutch beneath each arm. Owen stood several feet away completing paperwork.
Luca stopped.
"Good pass," Rowan said.
His voice was rough with pain and everything neither of them could settle there.
"Good read," Luca answered.
Rowan looked down the corridor where teammates passed in small groups. Then back at Luca.
"You did not need me to call it."
"No."
Rowan's gaze dropped to the front wheels of the chair, then returned to Luca.
"But you taught me how to see it," Luca added.
Not forgiveness. Not invitation. A fact Rowan had earned.
Rowan's grip tightened on the crutches. "You made it yours."
"Yes."
For once, Rowan did not turn the moment into protection or advice. He let it exist between them, visible to the only two people who understood its full meaning.