The air inside MetLife felt charged long before a ball had been kicked.
The crowd rippled in colour and motion, flags whipping, scarves raised high, the noise swelling with each second as the tunnel doors stirred.
Then the first boots touched the turf.
The stadium roared as Arsenal's line emerged, a tide of energy washing over the players.
Izan was near the front, his gaze lifting toward the endless tiers of faces surrounding the stadium.
Up in the stands, phones flashed, almost like every fan was trying to keep a piece of him on their devices.
Beside him, Martinelli grinned and muttered something about the noise, while from behind, Declan clapped his hands twice, his voice lost in the echoing boom of the stands.
The Paris section answered in kind, their navy flares painting one side of the stadium in smoke and light as Marquinhos led his team out.
For a brief moment, the noise merged into one long pulse, a sound that could be felt through the chest.
