The locker room buzzed with an energy that felt sharper than usual, like the air itself had been pulled too tight and could snap at any moment. The press meeting scheduled for later that afternoon had everyone on edge. Cameras, reporters, critics, fans—every eye would be waiting, dissecting every word, every expression, every movement.
And right now, the team’s star player was sitting silently in front of his locker, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers loosely intertwined.
Atticus Finch stared at the tiled floor like it had personally offended him.
Across the room, laughter erupted from two rookies arguing about who had the worst interview skills. A trainer barked instructions about hydration. Someone’s music blasted faintly through headphones.
Yet Atticus heard none of it.
H
