Two weeks had passed since Wigan's unbeaten run finally came to an end, but that story had long since passed from people's minds.
December had not even arrived yet, but the morning had already brought an unusually early snowfall to Wigan.
A figure in a dark trench coat hurried through the entrance of the training complex, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold as snow settled across the fabric.
"Ridiculous," he muttered to himself. "Snow already, and it's not even December."
The figure pushed through the doors and disappeared into the building, leaving a trail of melting flakes behind him.
Upstairs, Dawson stood alone in his office, looking down through the window at the training fields below.
Most of the complex was still quiet.
The grounds were covered in a thin layer of white, though much of it had already been disturbed by the footprints of the groundsmen who had arrived earlier.
