PREVIEW
... y, drops to the bench like their legs are made of gravel.
The air is thick—half steam, half tension. Shirts soaked through cling to backs and shoulders. Ice towels slap onto flushed skin. Roney peels off his top with a grunt and leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor.
Emeka stands, motionless, one glove still on. Fletcher paces. Richter sips water, eyes distant, his leg bouncing like it's still chasing something.
The room is buzzing—but only from the ceiling ...
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