[Charles De Gaulle]
2:45 PM
The plane touched down with a low thrum, tyres skimming the runway before settling into a steady roll.
A murmur passed through the cabin as seatbelts clicked open and jackets were tugged on.
Izan stayed still for a moment, gazing through the small oval window at the Paris skyline in the distance, the city shimmering faintly in the late afternoon haze.
"We are here now, and we know why we're here. Focus and keep your heads up," Mikel Arteta's voice carried down the aisle as he adjusted his jacket.
The words were calm, but the undertone was clear: no distractions.
They moved as a unit through the terminal, caps pulled low and hoods half-raised, but the airport walls couldn't mute what waited outside.
The sliding glass doors opened to a surge of sound and chants as well as applause and voices pitched high with excitement.
Scarves and flags splashed red and white across the barriers, hands reaching forward with shirts, boots, programmes.
