The stadium was electric, packed with thousands of roaring fans chanting Cameron Locke’s name. The weight of their expectations pressed down on him, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. He had built his career on pressure, on the thrill of the game, on proving—again and again—why he was the best.

Yet somehow, tonight, things weren’t clicking. The first half had been a disaster. Missed passes. Sloppy plays. His team was down, and the scoreboard burned like a personal insult.

But the game wasn’t over.

Cameron had been in this position before. He knew better than anyone that momentum could shift in an instant. As he stood on the field during a brief break, rolling his shoulders and shaking out the tension, his mind was already set—he was going to take this game back.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement.

His personal guards were in pursuit of someone, their voices sharp as they weaved through the sideline. Cameron barely had time to register what was happening before the figure sprinted right at him.

His instincts kicked in, muscles tensing as the gap between them closed. The chaos of the game momentarily faded, drowned out by this sudden, unexpected interruption.

"What the hell—?" Cameron muttered, his body already shifting, ready to react.