The strategy meeting had stretched late into the evening, the air in the film room thick with stale coffee and unspoken hostility. Kane Harlow’s latest public post glowed on the projector screen—a screenshot of our roster with my name circled in violent red marker.
“Ruiz added a cheerleader. We’ll have her crying by the end of the first. Weak link incoming. Watch us break her.”
No one had spoken. The rookies had shifted uncomfortably in their seats; the veterans glanced anywhere but at me. Caleb sat at the head of the table like carved stone, his knuckles white where they gripped the edge of the desk. He offered no defense. No words of support. Just that stony silence that cut deeper than any insult from our rival.
By the time I returned to my temporary dorm, old ghosts walked with me.
