The bus rolled into the dimly lit Colney parking lot just past 10 p.m.
The air was colder now, heavy with frost, and the lot was near empty aside from a handful of staff vehicles and one black-and-silver beast sitting near the far end—the Gemera.
Izan stepped off the team coach last, gear bag slung across his shoulder, match ball in hand again.
He offered a low nod to the staff as he broke off from the group and walked across the gravel, shoes crunching beneath him.
He unlocked the car with a subtle tap and slid in, the engine humming to life with the smooth confidence only something that expensive could afford.
His shoulders dropped slightly as he pulled out.
No stadium noise.
No interviews.
Just dark roads, engine sound, and streetlights stretching toward home.
.....
– 9:28 P.M.
"Olivia?" Izan called, voice low, as the glass door automatically shut behind him.
"In here," she replied.
