Elijah Rainn took a step forward.
No longer just the point guard.
Now the captain.
His sweat-dampened jersey clung to his shoulders. His jaw was still, but his voice cut clean through the quiet locker room.
"We rotate the bench for the first half of the third quarter."
A beat of silence.
Then, a twist in the air, like a matchstick struck.
"Not to rest…" he said, eyes locked with each of his teammates,
"…but to give me time."
One by one, they began to rise.
Not quickly.
Not loudly.
But with purpose.
Like roots stirring beneath soil.
Like old things awakening.
…
Nolan Reyes
The first to stand. His dribble always low, shoulders loose, eyes like still water.
(I don't run plays.)
(I slow them down.)
He wasn't flashy.
Didn't break ankles.
Didn't chase highlights.
But when he entered the court… something changed.
Vorpal's tempo shaken. Tilted. Like trying to sprint through deep surf.
They'd call him slow. Passive.
