The next day, the tunnel that led through the underbelly of the MetLife Stadium felt like it was breathing with the crowd above.
The faint vibration of thousands of feet and voices carried through the concrete, a low thunder rolling above their heads as the Arsenal squad walked through the dim corridor.
The players were dressed in their white Adidas shirts marked with the Arsenal crest and slim black trousers.
Their trainers squeaked faintly against the polished floor as the hallway curved upward toward the stands.
The echo of the crowd grew clearer with every step while snippets of chants, camera shutters, and the thump of bass from the stadium speakers filled the air.
Bukayo Saka, walking beside Izan, nudged him with his shoulder and grinned.
"So," he began casually, "where'd you disappear to last night? Everyone was looking for you after we got back."
Izan looked ahead, hands tucked loosely into his pockets.
