A Lone Road Head

The night before the tournament, Logan Drake sat alone in his office, bathed in a soft, tired glow, felt more like a cage than a workspace. The quiet felt almost predatory, like something lurking just beyond reach. Colton Hayes was gone—off preparing for the biggest night of his career. Without his presence, the room felt cavernous, every shadow stretching wider, every noise magnified.  

Logan stared at the event card sheet, his tie hanging loose, shirt sleeves rolled up. The once-crisp page was smudged with fingerprints, coffee rings marking the passage of too many sleepless nights.  

Across from him, Grizz sat in his usual chair, cradling a coffee cup that had long since gone cold. He hadn’t said much all evening, just nodded while Logan ran through logistics for the hundredth time. Normally, their silences were comfortable. But tonight, it was different.

Tonight, it felt like a goodbye.  

Eventually, Grizz set his mug down and stretched with a sigh. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, slinging it over his shoulder.  

"Welp," he said, as if commenting on the weather. "This is it for me. I’m signing off."

Logan frowned. "Wait—what?"  

Grizz adjusted his bandana. "Yeah. I’m done, kid. Tomorrow’s your big day, but I won’t be there.”

Logan’s chest tightened. "Grizz, what the hell are you talking about?"  

Grizz sighed. "I told you from the start—I’ve been in this business a long time. I know how it goes when suits get involved. Titan, Peak Media, the whole damn circus… You’re dancing with the devil, and I’m too old to watch you burn."  

Logan shot to his feet. "You can’t just walk away now! Not after everything we’ve built!"  

Grizz met his gaze, his face unreadable. "You don’t need me anymore."  

"That’s not true," Logan said, his voice raw.  

Grizz smirked. "Sure it is. You just don’t want to admit it."  

He turned to leave.  

Logan’s voice dropped to a whisper. "I don’t know if I can do this without you."  

Grizz paused in the doorway. He didn’t look back, but his voice was steady. “You don’t need me. You never did."

And then he was gone.  

The silence left behind was suffocating.  

Logan slumped back in his chair, his stomach churning. He reached for his phone just as it buzzed.  

The name on the screen sent a ripple of unease through him.  

Victor Blackwell. 

He hesitated. Then, he opened the message.  

From: Victor Blackwell  

Subject: Tomorrow  

Logan, I won’t be able to attend the event due to prior obligations. However, I’m sending Sebastian to oversee the finer details and ensure everything runs smoothly. 

Good luck tomorrow.  

Victor.  

Logan stared at the screen.  

The words felt less like encouragement and more like a warning.