Maya didn't sleep. Couldn't. Every sound the old building made—pipes rattling, floorboards cracking, the distant whine of a radiator—had her jerking upright, heart thudding, sure she'd see that shadow again at her window. When dawn finally bled gray through the blinds, her eyes felt raw, her body heavy and brittle as glass. She forced herself into her uniform anyway, yanked her bag over her shoulder, and trudged out to the field.
Just get through practice. One hour. You can survive one hour.
Except she barely did. Her passes veered wild, her feet stumbled and dragged. Even just breathing felt like trying to suck air through wet cotton. She caught Ethan's gaze from the sidelines—he leaned against the fencing with Coach, arms crossed, still benched from his suspension. His stare was sharp, always tracking her, like he was trying to solve a puzzle and she was the last missing piece. She hated how visible her unraveling must have looked.
