PREVIEW

... oached, the morning mist curling around his boots like a living thing.

He was fifteen minutes early, yet the air already crackled with the sharp trill of whistles, the rhythmic thud of boots on grass, and the low murmur of players calling to each other.

The scent of damp turf and sweat mingled with the faint tang of ozone from last night’s rain, grounding him in the familiar chaos of football. But as he crested the hill overlooking the main pitch, confusion knotted his brow.

...

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