And now back at the hotel, Arteta and Carlos Cuesta moved through the hotel corridor side by side, shoulders square, heads held with that purposeful air they always carried.
Odegaard trailed just a step behind them, his gait careful, like he didn't want to draw attention.
To anyone watching, it might have seemed like three men taking a quiet stroll after dinner.
But to the players waiting inside the lounge, it looked more like they were sneaking in through the back door of their own house.
"Mr Arteta and Mr Carlos," Saka's voice rang out across the room, breaking into a grin as the words tumbled.
"Walking like they're sneaking around. What a pleasant surprise."
Laughter rippled through the group, heads turning, some of the boys leaning forward to catch the reaction.
Odegaard barely had time to lift his chin before Izan stepped in closer, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
"How's the leg?"
The captain blinked, half a second away from brushing it off, then frowned slightly.
