Olivia's voice came through soft and warm, a little fuzzy with distance but rich with the kind of comfort that turned hotel rooms into safe spaces.
"So," she said, "how's Switzerland so far? Any chocolate or just tactical meetings and stretching routines?"
Izan chuckled, tilting his head into the pillow.
"Haven't stepped outside the room yet. We only just landed. You know how it is—De la Fuente and his 'settle in before you wander off' policy."
"Oh, right. God forbid a little fresh air ruins the game plan," she teased. "And how's your roommate?"
"Olmo?" Izan smirked.
"He's alright. Eats too many protein bars. Makes weird jokes. Wants me to join Barça so he can complain about competition and blame me when he gets benched."
She laughed at that.
"He sounds lovely. Did you at least hit him with something for that?"
"A pillow. Straight to the head. I regret nothing."
"Good."
