Summary:

He stopped three feet short of Theriault, skipping any kind of greeting. "You're fired."

Theriault blinked, his mouth dropping open, but before he could muster a single word, Marius raised his right arm. He pointed an index finger across the blue line painted on the carpet, zeroing in on two specific stalls near the back bench.

"Cameau. Drapeau. You two are traded. Get your personal stuff out of your lockers and leave the team gear right there."