The ball was inbounded cleanly.
Vorpal possession.
The crowd had quieted just enough for the sound of sneakers to echo, a whisper of anticipation rising in the tension-thick gym. No more shouting. Just watching.
Lucas Graves caught the ball at the top of the key.
He tapped his chest twice, then pointed forward.
Brandon saw it.
So did Ryan.
They didn't need words.
They remembered the drills. The chaos strat. The way Ethan once made a team dance to his rhythm.
Lucas spread his stance.
His eyes flickered across the Forest's positioning—just once.
And then—
He moved.
(Final shot? No.)
(Plenty of time. Let's bleed them first.)
He scanned.
Evan Cooper came curling around from the weak side, slicing through the elbow as Brandon set a subtle brush screen—legal, but almost invisible. Forest's defenders moved with practiced poise. No wasted motion. No panic. Each slide, each pivot, soft as a leaf in drifting wind.
