The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving streaks of pink and orange smeared across the sky like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. The field was mostly empty now, except for the low hum of cicadas and the soft thud of Carlos’s cleats against the grass. His muscles ached in that satisfying, well-earned way—post-practice exhaustion rolling over him like a warm tide.

He slowed from a jog to a walk, wiping his forearm across his brow as he circled toward the sideline. The cool-down was almost done, just a few more minutes before he’d grab a shower and maybe something unhealthy from the vending machine.

That’s when he noticed her.

On the far edge of the track, she moved with smooth, rhythmic strides—headphones in, ponytail bouncing, lost in whatever playlist or podcast was carrying her through the lap. There was something hypnotic about her pace. Focused. Determined. Not flashy, but steady, like she had something to prove.

He recognized her almost immediately. Claire’s friend. He’d seen her around school, at a few get-togethers, passing by in the hallway. The kind of girl who didn’t talk much, didn’t need to. She had that quiet confidence that made people take notice without knowing why.

Carlos lingered a moment longer, watching her finish a turn around the far side of the track before jogging toward her path. Not too fast—just enough to time it so their paths crossed naturally. Or, as naturally as he could manage with sweat sticking to the back of his neck.

She spotted him before he reached her, tugging one earbud loose as he approached.

“Didn’t think I’d see anyone else out here this late,” he said, offering an easy grin, breath still a little rough from practice. “Clocking in some secret training hours?”