The press room at Crypto.com Arena smelled like fresh coffee, expensive cologne, and the nervous sweat of reporters who knew they were about to witness something historic.
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Cameras clicked like impatient insects. Alex Ramirez stood at the long table draped in purple and gold, shoulders squared, fresh Suns jersey crisp against his skin. The championship ring on his right hand caught every flash and threw it back like a dare.
He felt Ethan before he saw him.
A quiet shift in the air, the same way the crowd hushed right before a buzzer-beater. Alex glanced toward the side exit. There—back row, navy blazer, blond hair tucked behind one ear, blue eyes locked on him with that steady, unshakable pride that always made Alex's chest feel too small for everything he carried.
Ethan gave him the tiniest nod.
Go get it.
The general manager stepped to the mic first. Voice booming through the speakers.
