Lucas turned, sweat clinging to his brow, eyes already flicking toward the sideline.
He raised one hand—calm, commanding.
"Set it up," he said, voice low but unmistakably firm.
Evan blinked, then his eyes lit up like he'd just been handed a loaded weapon.
"Triangle Shift. That method?"
Lucas nodded once, sharp and cool.
"Version Three. The one Ethan taught us."
For a half-second, Evan didn't move.
He just breathed.
Then, sucked in a sharp breath—like the gravity of the play finally clicked in.
Ryan, still catching his own breath from the last sequence, turned, brow furrowing.
"You sure?"
Lucas didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Because in that razor-thin moment between Elijah's perfect no-look pass and Micah's emotionless swish from the corner, a message had been sent.
(A flawless system.)
A blueprint disguised as a basket.
And now?
Lucas was writing the reply.
29 seconds left in the 3rd.
