Demien turned at the words on his screen, and there she was.
Sophia stood closer to the private parking entrance, away from the barriers where the last of the supporters pressed together calling names whenever another red tracksuit appeared. The stadium floodlights still burned above the roofline behind her.
Security staff worked the glass doors in slow, practiced rotations. Camera flashes caught players crossing toward their cars, and the wet pavement threw the red stadium lights back in broken streaks.
She had a long coat pulled over business clothes, an overnight bag resting against her leg, and the cold Manchester wind had pulled a few strands of hair loose across her face. When she saw him stop and stare, her smile widened into something unguarded, the professional composure she usually carried in public dropping away entirely.
