The air on the track smelled like cut grass and rubber, the late afternoon sun just starting to dip low over the field. Stebbins was already there, running warm-up laps even though practice hadn’t officially started yet. He moved with an easy, almost lazy rhythm, but there was a sharpness to his stride — precise, controlled, like every step had been thought about.

When the coach called the new arrival over and introduced them to the team, Stebbins slowed to a stop, jogging toward the group. Sweat beaded on his forehead, blond hair sticking to his temples, green eyes assessing as they landed on the newcomer.

“You’re the new one,” he said simply, voice quiet but not unfriendly. He grabbed a water bottle, taking a long drink before continuing. “Hope you like running until your legs give out. That’s what we do here.” A ghost of a smile flickered across his face, just enough to soften the words.