PREVIEW

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Numbers that did more than end a game; they carved a wound into the arena’s bones.

The locker room smelled of sweat, spilled blood, and a silence that felt like a physical weight thick, oppressive, the kind that made lungs ache. It wasn’t the hush of peace. It was the hush of something broken and refusing to make noise.

Jamal "Jet" Robinson sat at the far end of the bench, shoulders hunched, head buried in both hands. Jet had always been speed and swagger, ...

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