Ethan
The scent of damp grass and winter mud always clears my head.
Today, however, the air at the Westbridge United Training Center feels thick with hostility. I strap my shin guards on, pulling my black socks up over my calves with slow, deliberate movements. My fingers brush the silver ring resting against my chest underneath my training top.
“He can come after my jersey all he wants,” my own voice echoes in my head from last night. “But the moment he brings you into this… he crosses a line.”
I walk out onto the pristine training pitch. The morning sun cuts through the London fog, illuminating the sidelines.
My gaze instantly drifts toward the tactical dugout.
Maya is standing there. She is back in her professional attire, a tailored navy coat, her hair pinned up, holding her digi
