Chapter Three: Eighteen Catches and an Invoice from the Future

“Blue seventy-four! Blue seventy-four!” Eli’s false cadence echoed beneath the dome. Lin stood at the widest point of the formation. Derrick Hall pressed close. A safety hovered eight yards deep, while a linebacker leaned toward Lin’s side. Play ninety-nine, drawn on a torn sheet of notebook paper, had been designed to beat single coverage. Now three defenders were waiting. Twenty-one seconds remained. Fourth and ten. The Storm had no timeouts. Even an eight-yard catch might allow the clock to expire before another snap. Lin looked through the bodies at Eli and gave a small nod. The ball was snapped. Hall struck with both hands. Lin deliberately let his body tilt inward, pretending to be forced off his route. Hall took the outside.