"The king of Westbridge suddenly felt very small when he realized the invisible gears that kept his world turning had simply decided to stop."
The athletic complex at Westbridge University smelled of wet ash and panic.
Four days had passed since the fire. The blaze had been contained to the basement and the first-floor lounge, but the structural damage and the loss of equipment were catastrophic. The team had been forced to relocate their practices to the secondary outdoor field—a lumpy, poorly lit stretch of grass usually reserved for the intramural soccer leagues.
Archie Sinclair stood behind the center, glaring at the makeshift offensive line. The skies were overcast, reflecting his foul mood.
"Hut!" Archie barked, clapping his hands.
The center snapped the ball high. Archie bobble
