The morning of departure was unexpectedly quiet. Not the usual noise of rushed routine filled the apartment—no slamming doors, no humming pipes from the shower, and even the kitchen sounds drifted out more subdued than usual. The air was thick with a strange kind of silence—not frozen, not ominous, just... full. As if the walls themselves knew something was about to begin.
Lennox Graves had woken up earlier than necessary. Not out of nerves. His body just moved on its own, the way it had for days now. He sat up in bed and stayed there for a while. Barefoot on the floor, arms resting on his knees, holding a thought in his mind that still hadn't fully taken shape.
Madrid.
Not the match.
Not the stadium.
Not the travel time.
But the fact that he wasn't going alone anymore.
When he step
