The team plane hummed through the clouds, Dallas' skyline glowing below like a sea of lights. Lin Mo sat by the window, notebook open to a new page: Dallas crowd: loud, hostile. Doncic feeds off it. Stay locked.
LeBron slid into the seat next to him, holding a deck of cards. "You ever play poker?"
Lin Mo shook his head.
"Good. Doncic does. He reads tells, bluffs, makes you second-guess. Game 3, he'll come at you hard—first quarter, try to set the tone." LeBron flipped a card: ace of spades. "But bluffs don't work if you know they're bluffing. Stay patient. Let him burn energy early."
Lin Mo nodded, but his mind was on Game 1 in Dallas last year—Lakers lost by 20, crowd roaring so loud he couldn't hear plays. "How do you block out the noise?"
LeBron smiled. "You don't. You let it fuel you. Turn their noise into your focus." He tapped Lin Mo's notebook. "You've got his tells. You've got the plan. Now trust it."
Later, Russell joined them, showing off a video of Doncic in practice: he'd added a new move, a between-the-legs crossover into a step-back. "Saw this on his Instagram. He's been working on it."
Lin Mo watched, slow-mo. "Right foot still heel-first when he shoots. Same tell. Just a new thread, same stitch."
By midnight, the plane landed. Dallas' air was thick, humid, like a blanket over the city. As they pulled into the hotel, fans waited outside, chanting "M-A-V-S!" and holding signs: DONCIC > LAKERS.
Lin Mo touched the thimble. Hostile territory. But hostile fabric just needed stronger stitches.