PREVIEW
... breathe out.
Not yet.
The air hung heavy, dense with tension, like steam pressed tight beneath a lid of glass.
Horizon shuffled back to the bench—
Not broken.
But bent.
Not beaten.
But battered.
Their jerseys clung like second skin, soaked and salty.
Sweat cooled on bare arms and burning backs.
Their lungs fought to find a rhythm, but hearts still pounded—wild, relentless—from the storm that was the first quarter. < ...
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