At precisely half-past eight, Eze and Semenyo arrived together, a pair of ghosts haunting the brightly lit reception area. They were dressed in their club tracksuits, the red and blue fabric looking stark against their pale, anxious faces.
They looked less like professional footballers and more like two kids who had been summoned to the headmaster's office, their shared fate a heavy, invisible yoke connecting them.
They sat side-by-side on the uncomfortable reception sofa, a study in nervous tension, their shoulders hunched, their hands clasped tightly in their laps, their eyes fixed on some invisible point on the floor.
The sight of their shared terror was a punch to the gut, a stark reminder of how much was riding on the next hour.
