I hesitate. “He already said no.”
 
 “So, change his mind.”
 
 He walks away before I can respond.
 
 Slater’s in the weight room. Same rack. Same hoodie. Same rhythm like violence.
 
 I wait for him to finish his set.
 
 “Hey,” I say, quiet but not timid. “I have to ask again about the eval.”
 
 He doesn’t look at me. “Still no.”
 
 “Okay.”
 
 I turn to leave.
 
 He speaks without turning. “That’s all?”
 
 I pause. His tone catching me off guard.
 
 He grabs the towel from the bench, slings it over his shoulder, and turns slowly toward me.
 
 “Not even gonna fight for it?”
 
 I shake my head. “No.”
 
 “Riley begs.”
 
 “I’m not going to beg,” I reassure him.
 
 I turn to walk again.
 
 His voice drops low—sharp as a blade. “I thought you people care most about an athlete’s well-being?”
 
 I stop.
 
 “I think you’re a grown man who can make his own decisions,” I reassure him as professionally as I can, meeting his eye.
 
 He’s unreadable. Cold. But something flashes across his face.
 
 I just nod once and walk away.
 
 My hands are shaking when I walk out, but my spine stays straight the whole way out.
 
 I go to Riley’s office. He’s at his desk, scribbling something on a clipboard, frowning like he always does when he’s multitasking.
 
 “He won’t do it,” I say.
 
 Riley looks up. “Slater?”
 
 I nod. “Didn’t even let me finish the question.”
 
 He exhales through his nose, scrubs a hand over his jaw. “Fucking Castellano.”
 
 “I can try again later,” I offer, though I already know it’ll go the same way.
 
 Riley shakes his head. “It’s not on you. He’s impossible. Always has been.”