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Layla Barneeca Anderson
The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows of the training ground, painting the worn grass with warm gold and casting long, angled shadows across the field. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, earth, and the lingering bite of liniment from the locker room. Laughter echoed intermittently, a mixture of heavy breathing and half-hearted banter, as the players wound down from another grueling session. Some sprawled across the pitch, arms stretched over their heads, while others kept the rhythm going, lazily kicking balls toward makeshift goals. Despite the fatigue settling deep in their muscles, the camaraderie on the field remained lively—a strange energy born out of shared exhaustion. Aaron Bekker wiped his brow with the hem of his shirt, his lungs still burning slightly
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