Izan had just slurped a mouthful when his phone buzzed across the table.
A call.
He wiped his fingers on a napkin and glanced at the screen.
No name, just a Spanish country code and the tag Madrid.
He met Olivia's eyes briefly, then accepted the call.
"Hola?" he answered, voice calm but curious.
Izan held the phone to his ear, expecting static or a misdial.
No one spoke at first.
The silence stretched just long enough that he lowered the phone to glance at the number again, his thumb hovering near the red button.
And then—
"Izan," came a familiar voice, steady and clipped. "It's Pablo Amo."
He straightened a little, instantly more alert. "Coach."
"Just wanted to check in. When are you arriving at the Las Rozas base? Some of the boys are flying in tonight."
Izan paused.
The noodles in his bowl had already begun to cool. Olivia looked over, her smile fading slightly as she noticed the change in his posture.
