PREVIEW

... g ground was the color of wet cement. A low mist clung to the grass, muffling the usual morning chatter. For once, the players weren't joking or snapping towels at each other. They waited in small groups—some stretching, some silent—throwing the occasional glance toward the changing room door.

Then it opened.

Niels stepped out in his black tracksuit, his boots crunching over the gravel. His posture was calm, but his stomach twisted like a knotted shoelace. He wasn't the assistant ...

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