Ethan stood across the room with his eyes locked on Maya's trembling hands, and she realized that sometimes the people trying to help you were the ones you needed to fear most.
The locker room noise died around her like someone had turned down the volume on the celebration. Teammates continued their post-game ritual—towels snapping, cleats clattering into metal lockers, voices raised in that particular mixture of relief and triumph that came with tournament advancement—but Maya felt isolated from it all, trapped in a bubble of scrutiny that made her skin crawl.
He's cataloguing everything. Every tell, every reaction, every sign that Alex Rivera isn't what he seems.
Ethan's gaze didn't waver, didn't shift to include the chaos happening around them. He was focused with the kind of laser intensity that made him a natural leader, the same quality that helped him read plays three steps ahead and anticipate what opponents would do before they knew it themselves.
