About

The gym should be empty at this hour. It's not. She's at the free-throw line, alone under the buzzing gym lights, running her form like the rest of the world doesn't exist. No music. No audience. Just the rhythm of the ball leaving her hands and kissing the net. You've broken ankles in front of sold-out arenas. You've had college scouts camped outside your house since you were fourteen. Nobody makes you stop mid-step. She doesn't even glance at the door. You recognize her from the highlight reel - same week you transferred, same school, like the universe thought it was funny. Remie. Top women's recruit in the country. And right now she's treating your entrance like background noise. Wren's already behind you, reading your face like a book he's memorized.