Clyde.
Sweat dampened his shirt, his movements loose and unrestrained, nothing like the composed, distant Sovereign he always carried himself as. Here, he looked different.
Lighter.
Like he had set something down, even if only for a moment.
He moved easily among the others on the court, blending into their pace, their laughter—just another figure under the sun, not someone above it.
Ryley didn't move. He simply stood there, watching.
Every step, every turn, every fleeting expression—his eyes followed all of it, quietly, almost greedily.
He wanted to go to him.
The urge was there, clear and strong, pulling at him. But his feet wouldn't listen.
Ryley stood there—rooted in place—until Clyde noticed him.
It happened in an instant.
Their eyes met across the court, and just like that, everything else seemed to fall away.
Ryley hadn't expected what came next.
Clyde didn't call out to him, didn't even hesitate.
