PREVIEW

... c. Just the whistle, sharp and final, and the rolling hum of eighty minutes left in Lyon's lungs.

The crowd hadn't softened. But the tone had shifted. First-half swagger gave way to anxious volume. They'd seen the shift. They just didn't want to believe it.

Demien stood now.

Not pacing. Not gesturing.

Just standing. Arms behind his back. Shoulders square. The coat was gone, left folded on the bench. His eyes locked to the rhythm building in front of him.

G ...

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