CHASE
She clicked the recorder off and I felt the shift immediately—like the temperature dropped another five degrees even though nothing had actually changed except the small red light between us going dark.
“You don’t know,” I repeated.
Sloane looked at her notebook like it might provide an escape route.
It didn’t.
“We should finish the interview,” she said.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer I have right now.”
I leaned back against the cold bleacher behind me, coffee forgotten in my hands.
“Turn it back on then,” I said. “Ask your questions.”
She hesitated. Then reached for the recorder.
Clicked it on.
The red light blinked to life.
“Let’s talk about your defensive-zone coverage,” she said, voice shifting back into that crisp, professional register. “Your plus-mi
