After a few minutes of walking, Julian and Coach Owen pushed through the doors of The Final Whistle once again.
Warm light spilled over the bar and tables, the low hum of chatter weaving with the faint sound of a match playing on the mounted TV. The smell of grilled meat and spices drifted from the kitchen, clinging to the air.
"Everything alright?" Crest's voice carried from the corner.
She sat across from Tawny, a half-finished plate of food in front of her, a cold beer in Tawny's hand. Both women looked far too comfortable for Julian's sense of reality.
"Yeah," Julian said, his face steady now—resolved, no trace of hesitation left.
"Good. Then sit," Tawny grinned, waving them over. "Come on, both of you."
Julian and Owen moved to the table.
"This is Lydia Crest—my friend, my comrade," Tawny said with a kind of pride in her voice.
Owen reached across the table, offering his hand. "Henry Owen. Tawny's husband."
