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Small teams win a surprising number of the projects they have no business winning. It is tempting to explain this with hunger or hunger's cousin, cheapness, but neither survives contact with the evidence. What small teams actually have is a shorter distance between noticing a problem and fixing it.
A team of three has three working relationships. A team of ten has forty-five. Every one of them is a place where context has to be re-explained, a decision has to be re-litigated, or a piece of work has to wait for someone else's calendar.
None of that is anyone's fault, and none of it can be managed away. It is arithmetic. Which is why adding people to a late project makes it later, and why the smallest team that can do the work is usually the fastest one.

The real advantage is not speed of execution — large teams execute fine. It is that the person who notices the problem is usually allowed to fix it.
Trust is doing the work that process would otherwise have to do, and it is doing it for free.
The written list of exclusions is the part that matters. Scope does not creep in through decisions; it creeps in through the absence of them.
Given the same month, a large team tends to produce more surface and a small team tends to produce more finish. For most creative work the second is worth more, because the things people remember about a product are almost never the things it merely has.
Would we rather ship six good screens or two excellent ones?
The honest answer depends on the project, and a small team is one of the few that can actually choose.
Small is not a stage to grow out of. It is a working condition — fewer handoffs, shorter arguments, more ownership — and holding on to it deliberately is how a handful of people keep producing work that ought to have needed a department.