Neil's seat was right behind the business-class section. He had the window seat, much to his displeasure, but the space under the seat in front of him was just big enough for his bag. He pushed the duffel into place with his shoes and tried not to feel trapped by his seatmate. Attendants squeezed up and down the aisles, trying to get everyone settled as quickly as possible.

When everyone was finally seated and the overhead compartments were snapped shut, the attendants launched into a spiel about safety. Neil glanced at the emergency exit door but wasn't as tempted as he thought he might be.

Facing Riko like this went against everything his mother taught him. He'd been raised to run, to sacrifice everything and everyone to ensure his own survival. His mother had never given him ground to stand on. Maybe that was why he hadn't been strong enough to save her in the end. A jumble of lies had nothing to fight for. But Neil Josten was a Fox. Andrew called this home; Nicky called him family. Neil wasn't going to lose any of it. If two weeks with Riko was the price to keep his team safe, Neil would pay it.

Somehow those thoughts made the flight easier. Neil even managed to doze through part of it, but he woke when they landed.

Jean was waiting for him in Arrivals. He watched Neil's approach with a cool look on his face, and there was an edge in his voice when he said, "You shouldn't have come here."

"Let's go," Neil said.

The ride was silent, but the first sight of Castle Evermore had Neil's blood humming in recognition. Evermore looked more like a monument than a stadium, and its jet-black paint job made it even more imposing. It was half-again as big as the Foxhole Court. Neil doubted the Ravens could fill every seat at every game, but the US Court likely sold out within hours of posting their matches. Neil could only imagine what game nights sounded like inside.

Jean stopped at a gate and reached out his window to type in a code. The gate swung open with a quiet squeal and Jean drove into the barricaded parking lot. A line of cars was already parked at the curb. Neil wished he was surprised that they were all identical. Even the custom license plates were only a couple digits off from each other. Neil stared hard at them until he thought he figured out the sequence. The EA had to be Edgar Allan, and the numbers following were class years and jersey numbers.

"This isn't a team," Neil said. "It's a cult."

"Get out," Jean said, and parked in the open spot his teammates left for him.