There was no roar at the restart.
Just breath. Sharp and even. The kind you take before lifting something heavy.
Bradford weren't chasing momentum—they already had it. But they weren't protecting it either. The second half opened like a held chord: controlled, tight, full of restraint.
The ball came loose in midfield after an early AZ probe, and Lowe met it like a hammer—body low, both feet planted, and one clean shoulder that thumped their number eight flat to the ground.
No foul. All timing.
Valley Parade rose. Not with a cheer, but with that raw, full-throated approval that said we saw that.
Jake didn't react. Just shifted his weight onto his left foot and scanned the spacing.
Ethan picked up the next pass in a pocket near halfway. Two AZ players snapped toward him—press set like a spring.
He didn't panic.
He took the ball on the half-turn, angled it with the outside of his boot and spun between them. One shoulder dipped, and the challenge came in late.
