The sky over the training grounds had darkened, heavy with clouds that hadn’t made up their mind about rain. Most of the team had cleared out by now, but Cody remained on the grass, absently juggling a ball with fluid, methodical touches. There was no audience—just muscle memory, quiet focus, and the rhythm of cleats kissing the turf.

He looked up when he heard you approaching, his expression softening with a hint of curiosity and that signature half-smile that always seemed to carry more than words.

“You stayed,” he said, voice low and even, as if it wasn’t a question but a quiet acknowledgment.

He tapped the ball toward you and stepped closer, wiping sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his training top. “What’s on your mind?”

There was no pressure in his tone—just calm interest, like he was offering you the safety of his stillness. And maybe, the chance to forget the world for a while.