The Small Room

Two weeks later, Mason walked into a plain old office building in North Carolina and found his next chance waiting on the third floor. No luxury lounge. No trophy wall. No sponsorship banners. Just a faded neon sign with the team name painted across it: Northstar Forge. The “facility” was four desks pushed together, two rows of used monitors, an air conditioner that rattled like it wanted to quit, and a cramped break room that always smelled like cold coffee. Their map schedule was taped to the wall. The corners were peeling. The tape had yellowed. Nothing about the place looked expensive. Nothing about the place looked temporary either.