"Don't put too much pressure on it," Miranda's voice cut through the quiet thud of Izan's landing as he hopped off the stool on the kitchen island.
She set her tablet down on the counter, eyes narrowing, her tone riding the line between stern and concerned.
"You're supposed to be taking it easy, not acting like you're back and ready to train."
Izan chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair, his expression that familiar mix of playfulness and defiance.
"Come on, Mira. You'd think I tore the whole thing off the way everyone's talking. It's not as serious as Arteta's making it sound. He's always looking for an excuse to bench me for rest. I'm fine."
He leaned back against the counter, shoulders loose, as Komi continued to dish out the plates for breakfast.
From behind him, soft footsteps padded across the tiled floor as Olivia emerged, her hair still clinging wetly to her cheeks, fresh from her shower.
