15 – 13. Forest Basket leads.
The gym wasn't loud—it was tense. Every breath in the crowd was held, every eye locked on the hardwood where giants moved with surgical grace. The scoreboard blinked red above the court. Two-point game. One mistake could tip the balance.
Forest possession.
The ball was inbounded cleanly. Elijah Rainn caught it with a kind of tranquil elegance—his hands soft, posture fluid, like he was plucking a falling leaf from midair.
He didn't rush.
He didn't flinch.
He simply... read.
Eyes low, head high, he started dribbling upcourt, each bounce a steady, practiced tempo. The way his foot touched the floor, the way his eyes flicked from the corners to the top of the key it was less basketball, more symphony.
Elijah Rainn, the Forest Watcher.
He scanned.
Measured.
Judged.
"Thomas," Elijah said softly, voice barely audible over the sneakers squeaking on the court. "Screen left."
