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A collision point.

Rowan’s name sat in my messages like a constant reminder I couldn’t ignore anymore.

I typed:

Mason:

You nervous?

She replied fast.

Rowan:

Yes.

Pause.

Rowan:

Are you?

I looked out at the empty street.

Then:

Mason:

Yeah.

Another pause.

Longer this time.

Then:

Rowan:

Good.

I exhaled slightly.

That word again.

Good.

Not reassurance.

Not comfort.

Just acknowledgment.

Like she understood what it meant.

And for the first time since Coach posted that list—

NYC didn’t feel like pressure.

It felt like impact waiting to happen.