Julian slept hard that night.
The kind of sleep that came after war—deep, heavy, and absolute.
But even in that stillness, something clawed at him.
Something he had forgotten.
And when the dream came, it wasn't of goals or stadium lights.
It was of a figure waiting under trees.
Tress.
Julian jolted awake, sweat beading across his face, his shirt clinging to his skin. His chest rose and fell as if he had just sprinted the length of the pitch.
"...Damn." He rubbed his temple. He had forgotten. He was supposed to tell her. About everything. About leaving. About San Dimas.
But did he even owe her that? Their bond wasn't… special. Not like that.
Still, something inside whispered: important.
Julian sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floorboards like a scholar staring into a scroll of forbidden spells. His mind spun circles.
And then—
Ring. Ring.
His phone buzzed violently on the nightstand. The name flashing across the screen made his brows twitch.
Tress.
