The morning sun over Northcastle was pale and thin. It filtered through the blinds of Eric Maddox's new apartment, a clean but sparsely furnished space provided by the club for its coaching staff. It was a far cry from the luxury he had once known, but it was quiet. It was a place where he could think.
Maddox sat at his small kitchen table with a tablet and a cup of black coffee. He was reviewing the defensive positioning of the Silvergate Youth Sailors. If he was going to buy Noah Perring, he wanted to know exactly what kind of tactical mess the boy was escaping.
The screen was filled with red and blue circles, showing a disjointed backline that leaked goals like a sieve.
His phone vibrated on the wooden surface. The caller ID didn't show a name, but he recognized the number. It was Alina.
He let it ring twice before picking up. He took a slow breath, steadying his mind. In his previous life, he had navigated high-stakes contract negotiations and hostile takeovers.
