I won’t be.
I think about Mia watching from the plaza. Think about Julia’s hand on Paragon’s shoulder. Think about being called aproduct. I think about every time someone looked at me and saw a weapon instead of a man.
A tool instead of a human.
And I let the darkness in.
Just a little. Just enough for it to tickle my veins.
My speed doubles.
The world becomes a tunnel of light and motion as I push past limits I didn’t know I had. Paragon falls behind—one meter, then five, then ten. I can feel my body straining, systems I don’t fully understand working overtime, but I don’t care.
I will not lose.
The plaza comes into view, the crowd a roaring mass of color. I angle my descent, calculating trajectory and speed, and then I’m touching down on the stage with an impact that cracks the floor beneath my boots.
Three seconds later, Paragon lands beside me.
Three seconds. That’s all.
But it’s enough.
For right now, it’s more than e-fucking-nough.
The crowd erupts. Marsh is at my side instantly, arm around my shoulders, playing to the cameras with that thousand-dollar smile. “Our champion! Vanguard, ladies and gentlemen!”
My whole body feels depleted, but I manage a smile, a wave, all the performance they expect. And through the chaos, my gaze finds the press section.
Mia is clapping, grinning at me. To my delight, she looks absolutely impressed. I can’t help but flash her a quick, genuine smile.
I did it.
“Impressive,” Paragon says beside me, that dead metallic voice cutting through the crowd noise. “You exceeded projected parameters.”
Projected parameters.
“Thanks,” I say mildly. “You almost had me there.”
“I was operating at 94.7 percent capacity.” A pause. “I will adjust for future engagements.”
Something cold settles in my stomach. He’s not boasting; he’s just talking about data points, like the race was a test, and now it’s been logged for future reference for him to pull up at a later time.
“Fabulous,” I mutter under my breath. “Looking forward to it.”
Julia materializes between us again, her face glowing with satisfaction. But when she looks at me, it’s like she’s calculating something.
“You pushed yourself,” she observes. “Harder than you needed to. Harder than you normally do.”
“Yeah? I wanted to win.”
“No. You wanted todominate.” Her pale eyes search my face. “What changed?”
I don’t answer. She doesn’t need to know it was because Mia was watching. She doesn’t need to know about the darkness I let slip its leash. She doesn’t need to know she’s completely right. Idowant to dominate, at all costs.
And if I’m honest with myself, it scares me.
“Nothing changed,” I say. “I just don’t like losing.”
