“Room knows?”
“Family emergency. That’s it.”
“Good.”
“Sully told Roman in front of the bench,” Evan says. “Nobody is guessing.”
That lands where it is supposed to.
The room is not leaderless.
The room is not confused.
They know enough.
Evan looks past me at Peyton, then back. No smirk this time. No edge for the sake of edge.
“Go,” he says. “We’ll finish it.”
Evan’s mouth twists. “Don’t make me say something supportive twice. It damages the brand.”
“Keep them smart,” I say.
“I will keep them mean and mostly legal.”
“Evan.”
“Fine. Smart.”
I nod once and leave.
Outside, the night hits cold against my overheated skin. Behind us, the arena pulses with a crowd that does not know its captain has left. Cameras are inside. Fans are inside. The machinery is inside.
Peyton walks beside me.
She moves fast, but not ahead of me. Close enough that if I misstep, she will see it. Far enough that I do not feel managed.
The truck is in the far corner, where I always park. I unlock it. Toss my bag into the back seat. Peyton opens the rear door and adds hers beside it, then pulls out the hoodie, charger, and one of the waters.
“You’ll need these,” she says.
I look at the things in her hands.
Practical. Small. Absurdly precise.
A hoodie. A charger. Water.
The kind of care nobody can put in a statement.
“Peyton.”
“Get in the truck.”
I do not have anything left for permission anyway.
She climbs into the passenger seat and sets the charger between us. Her phone goes into the cupholder. Mine follows because I cannot keep holding it and drive at the same time.
The arena shrinks in the rearview mirror.
