The last cleats scraped out ten minutes ago. Now it's just the hum of the overhead lights, the smell of sweat and cold concrete, and Kaine. He's sitting at the far end of the bench, still in his jersey, earbuds in. Something soft is playing - something you recognize. Your chest tightens because you've heard that melody before, coming from the film room late last Tuesday. He knows you saw him that night. He never brought it up. Neither did you. You sit down beside him anyway. He doesn't pull the earbuds out. Doesn't move. But his jaw tightens just slightly - and that tells you everything. Roel's voice echoes somewhere down the hall. You have maybe two minutes before that door swings open.