The ball was now in Ordinary's possession after the foul and Zeke shoot the ball, now Noah had already taken Charlotte place, stepping onto the court, hands balled into determined fists.
But the one who changed the most...
was Lucas.
He stood at the top of the key, the ball being inbounded toward him, but he didn't move at first.
He didn't even blink.
His golden eyes burned—not with exhaustion, not with fear—but something else.
Something heavy.
Something dangerous.
Lucas Graves wasn't tired anymore.
Not even close.
His hands tightened at his sides as flashes of memory struck through him like lightning—
His father's strong arms lifting him after every game.
The warmth of Roman Graves's laugh.
The cold, merciless beep of the machines that now kept their father alive.
Three years.
Three long, empty years.
Roman Graves, the man who taught them how to live, how to dream—
Still trapped inside a coma, silent, unmoving.
Neither gone nor present.
