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Dylan wastes exactly half a second before turning fully toward me.

"Alright, so what's the plan now?"

My mouth falls open. "You just heard the plan—I wait to see what Kent says, and if there isn't anything for me, I get to choose between Alaska or unemployment."

Dylan looks to the ceiling, blowing a breath through her lips. Then her eyes find mine again.

"No."

My brow furrows. "Huh?"

She shakes her head, dropping her hands onto her hips. "No," she repeats, even bolder this time. "I don't accept this."

I chuckle softly. "I love you, Dyl, but I don't think that matters. Either I take Alaska and risk losing the life I finally want… or I stay and walk away from the job that's kept me standing all these years."

"No," she says again. Quickly. Simply. Determined.

Her eyes dart to the side like she's thinking.

"Okay," I laugh. "Then how about you figure it out for me."

Dylan stares long enough for me to worry. My smile falls flat.

"Dylan, I'm—"

"No," she says one more time. But this time that's not the end. She looks me in the eye.

"I think I might actually be able to do that."

33

Jace

I've always felt most at home on a field.

I think that's why the idea of leaving Mage—or anywhere else—never scared me.

It was never the brick and mortar of a house or the coordinates on a map that felt like safety, stability, or peace.

It was the grass.

The grass and the dirt and the three bases set around a white-painted diamond.

That's where the world always made the most sense.

And people? Well… they never stuck quite the same as a baseball did.

So, I learned to build a life around the one thing that never let me down. The one thing that never left. And I think part of me even liked the protection that offered—secluding myself with nothing but a ball and a glove.

But then that changed.

And tonight is the proof I needed that letting people back in—letting them get close—was a risk worth taking. Because if I thought I felt at home on this field before, I didn't really understand what it meant to share it. To turn it into something bigger than just a place I came to disappear.

My eyes wander the stadium, where the lights seem to shine even brighter than usual, cascading in ribbons across the field. Bright blue is scattered throughout the stands, the décor—the Deaf flag flying in the distance as it waits for the anthem. Somehow it all complements the deep Gator green. And the yellow woven through both pulls it all together.

Even the sleeves I usually get shit for finally fit the view.

But then I see her.