The news landed like a blow.

“The Ravens are moving districts,” Wymack said. His tone was clipped, almost dismissive, but the words echoed in Fox Tower like gunfire.

Kevin went white.

The others were still processing—Nicky’s mouth falling open, Aaron muttering a curse, Neil’s jaw tightening—when Kevin lunged for his phone.

“Don’t,” Andrew said from his corner, voice flat but sharp enough to cut.

Kevin didn’t stop. His hands shook as he punched in the number, pacing like a man about to collapse under his own heartbeat.

Neil stepped forward. “Kevin. Who are you—”

But Kevin was already speaking, words spilling out fast and desperate into the phone. “It’s happening sooner than I thought. They’ll never be ready in time. They won’t listen. They won’t see. You need to come tomorrow. If they don’t learn now, they’re finished.”

Then he hung up. Just like that.

The silence that followed was jagged.

Nicky finally broke it with a weak laugh. “Please tell me you just ordered takeout.”

Kevin ignored him, shouldering his bag like nothing had happened. His face was pale, his mouth tight, but his voice was steady. “Be here tomorrow.”

And then he walked out.

⸻

The Foxes didn’t sleep easy that night.

Nicky tried to joke it off—“maybe he called a therapist?”—but the way Kevin had spoken, the edge of panic in his voice, left no doubt. Neil had stared at the ceiling half the night, replaying Kevin’s words, while Andrew sat silent and still beside him, unreadable. Aaron muttered about traitors until even Nicky told him to shut up.

By morning, the tension was a living thing in the locker room.

And then the door opened.

You stepped in.

The black jacket marked you before your face did, the Raven crest stitched in stark contrast against the orange walls of Fox Tower. The air snapped tight.

Nicky actually gasped. “Oh my god, he really did it.”

Aaron swore. “Are you kidding me?”

Neil’s fists curled without him meaning them to, the sharp flare of anger making his chest tight.

Andrew didn’t move, but his eyes locked on you with the kind of unblinking intensity that made most people back up a step.

Kevin followed close behind, as if this had all been his plan from the beginning. He dropped his bag on the bench with a heavy thud. “They’re here to help.”

“Help?” Neil spat.

“Yes,” Kevin snapped. He turned to the team, his voice cutting like a whip. “The Ravens are in this district now. If you want to survive, you have to understand how they play. You don’t. They do. Watch. Learn. Or keep stumbling through and get destroyed before the season’s half over.”

Aaron glared. “So your solution is to drag one of them in here? Right into our court?”

Kevin ignored him. He tossed you a racquet without looking, and you caught it clean, like you’d been waiting for it.

“First drill,” Kevin barked. “With me.”

You followed him onto the court. The Foxes stayed frozen for a beat too long, like their legs didn’t trust what their heads were seeing.

And then Kevin moved, and you moved with him.

It was seamless—step, cut, pass, return. No hesitation, no wasted motion. Raven training ran through your veins like second nature. Kevin matched you stride for stride, both of you snapping into a rhythm so sharp it almost hurt to watch.

The Foxes tried to join in. Neil darted forward too soon, Aaron lagged behind the rotation, Nicky’s pass wobbled off-target. Kevin stopped the drill after the third failed cycle, disgust flashing across his face.

“Do you see the difference now?” he demanded, voice low but edged with fury. “This is structure. This is discipline. This is what it takes. You are years behind.”

You stood silent beside him, racquet balanced loosely in your hand, letting his words hang in the air.

The Foxes bristled, uneasy under the weight of Kevin’s disappointment and your effortless precision.

On the sideline, Nicky muttered, “Yeah, or maybe this is the part where the Raven eats us alive.”

Andrew didn’t answer. He just kept staring at you, flat and unblinking, like he was waiting for the moment Kevin’s trust in you would prove fatal.