And then Jude.
He glanced up the moment he caught Izan's eye.
"Well," he said under his breath, low and casual as he fell into line beside him.
"Still time to fake an injury if you want."
Izan didn't blink. "You can go first. I won't tell."
They both smirked, breaking out into a little laughter before composing themselves, just two young stars wearing different colours for the night.
Then footsteps slowed as Modrić passed behind Jude and gave Izan a short, firm nod — not warm, not cold, just… respectful.
A warrior's nod, maybe.
Izan returned it, quiet and steady.
Then no more words.
Just the ref's call, which they stood waiting for, but they didn't have to wait long.
The tunnel soon shifted, and after a bit, the two teams began to walk out of the tunnel.
The stadium lights burned brighter than the stars above, soaking the pitch in a glow that seemed to hum with anticipation.
