The field had shrunk to ten yards and a lifetime's worth of regret.
Fourth and Goal. Six seconds left.
Ravenbrook 28 – Graymont 27.
Rain hammered the lights, soaking through pads and skin. Every breath turned to steam in the cold air. The crowd's noise had vanished into static—nothing but heartbeats and thunder.
Eli Cross stood in the huddle, helmet tilted down, eyes shadowed. "Trips right," he said quietly. "Dream in motion. Ace fade. We end it here." The linemen nodded. No speeches. No noise. Just faith.
On the sideline, Jace "Prime" Kittredge, their shutdown corner, stood motionless—helmet in hand, chest heaving. He'd already given them the chance with his pick-six. Now, all he could do was watch. He whispered to himself, "Come on, Eli… just once. Make it count."
The ball snapped. The line clashed, a wall of mud and violence. Stone anchored left, Rhino fought off the edge, Diesel threw his body into a blitzing linebacker. The pocket wobbled—dying fast.
Eli stepped up, slipped, caught himself with one hand, and rolled right. Rain streaked across his visor. Time slowed. Dream Hale peeled across the goal line. Ace Rowe fought through contact, twisting free at the back corner.
Eli planted his bad leg. Pain exploded through his shoulder—and he threw. The ball spun through the storm like a flare in the dark, wobbling but alive. It cut across ten yards of chaos, heading for the corner of the end zone… where Ace turned, eyes wide, hands rising. Rain dripping, fingers trembling. The world holding its breath.
From the sideline, Jace dropped to one knee, heart pounding. He couldn't see if Ace caught it. Couldn't see the ref's hands. Couldn't hear the whistle. Only thunder. Only the scream building in his chest.
Then—Black.
"They say you only get one shot. Funny thing is… sometimes, you get two."
— One year earlier.