NOVA
Jake Morrison caught me between the film room and the elevator.
It was late. Most of the coaching staff had left an hour ago. The facility had that hollow, after-hours quality where every sound carried too far and the corridors felt wider than they did during the day. I was heading out after finishing a stack of intake reports that should have been done yesterday and would have been if I hadn’t spent the last three days managing the cognitive load of knowing things I wasn’t supposed to know.
I heard the footsteps behind me and assumed it was security making rounds. Then the voice.
“Working late, Doc?”
I turned. Jake was leaning against the corridor wall with his arms crossed, still in his practice gear from the waist down, a team polo stretched across his shoulders. His sandy hai
