Rowan.
Sitting beside him.
Laptop open.
Hair tied back.
Focused.
But when her eyes landed on me, just for half a second—
something shifted.
Not obvious.
Not dramatic.
Just there.
Then it was gone.
Professional again.
“Let’s keep this simple,” the interviewer said. “Athlete profile. Background, mindset, NYC preparation.”
I sat down.
Rowan didn’t say anything at first.
She just typed.
Watching.
Listening.
Not reacting.
Which somehow made it worse.
ROWAN
I told myself I was fine.
I wasn’t.
Because seeing him like that—on the other side of a structured setup instead of a gym conversation—felt different.
Controlled.
Framed.
Like he wasn’t just Mason anymore.
He wasmaterial.
The interviewer started.
“Let’s talk about pressure,” he said.
