"Good," Lexi interjected sharply. "Frankfurt are good. And he's special. You saw—"
Roger raised a hand. "He's talented," he agreed. "But talent isn't enough in Europe."
He took another sip of coffee, completely confident in his assessment.
Jane, meanwhile, was clearing the plates — quiet and thoughtful as always. She hadn't followed football closely, but even she recognised his name. Germany's headlines had been difficult to avoid after the matches against Italy.
"Lukas Brandt…" she said softly, almost to herself.
Lexi shoved the phone toward her. "Look at him. He said they'll be in Bilbao. He doesn't even care that people are calling it arrogant. He knows."
Jane turned — and looked at the screen.
The photo was up close now. Lukas smiling, sweat-slick hair, face lit by stadium floodlights. Someone had screenshot it from television. His features were so vivid. So clear.
Jane froze.
