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... ch evening like stage beams. Every breath hung in the air, visible. Crisp. Tense.

Scarves rippled across the home end—red and white, steady in their rhythm. A flare popped off behind the north stand, faint smoke drifting over the lower rows. Bradford's small but loud travelling support held their section firm, singing through the wind like it owed them answers.

Down on the touchline, Jake stood still as the players emerged. Hands behind his back, coat unzipped despite the bite in ...

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