Summary:

“Please, Roz,” Ovlichein, their youngest rookie, begs. Ilya doesn't doubt how earnestly he means his words as he arches a brow at him, watching panic spread across Ovlichein's face. “Everyone else said that they couldn't host, and I offered but they said that none of the rooks could, which meant that Breezy and 'Los couldn't either, and then Marley said that we wouldn't gel as a team, and then everyone else agreed, and then Carmie and Sebbin said that we were going to be cursed if we didn't—”

Ilya holds up a hand, gratified when Ovlichein immediately falls silent.

The locker room is empty of everyone else, a trap neatly laid by the team. Ilya would be impressed by their conniving if it weren't so fucking irritating.

“This is a setup,” Ilya says slowly, watching as Ovlichein pales. “You know this, yes? You have been sent as a sacrifice for the whole team.”

OR: Ilya is a sensible captain. He takes care of his rookies, he hosts the team when needed, and he doesn't fuck around with ouija boards. Too bad Boston only cares about the first two things