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Carrington.

The day after Napoli.

Rain swept sideways across the windows. The glass rattled softly with every gust, as if the building were sighing. Inside, the dressing room smelled of muscle rub, turf, and that faint bitterness of tired bodies.

Nathan sat on the bench, elbows on his knees, head bowed. His quads felt like stone, and there was a deep, lingering tension in his lower back.

And yet, even as his body protested, his mind refused to slow down.

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