The next few days passed without incident.
Training went on as scheduled.
Sessions were sharp, focused, almost quiet in their efficiency.
No headlines worth clipping, no whispers leaking out of the club.
Dawson kept things tight, the squad responded, and the rhythm of the season carried on without anyone trying to disrupt it.
If there was tension, it stayed away from the squad.
By Friday morning, Leo found himself standing inside Ringway Airport, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, watching people stream past with suitcases and coffee cups.
The departure board flickered overhead, rows of destinations rolling by like a reminder that life did not pause just because football did.
"The other leagues start soon," Leo muttered to himself, thinking about opening weekend, as it had now been almost two weeks since the World Cup final was played.
Vittoria stood beside him, with the two suitcases in tow, as her passport, in hand, rested on one of the suitcases.
