She blinked, taken off guard. “Advice, or a trap?”
I almost smiled. “Depends how much you listen.”
Her eyes narrowed—just a flicker of suspicion—and she gave a quick nod, turning away as her engineer called her back to the car.
Pride and mistrust. She’d fit in fine.
“I don’t think you’ve ever offered me advice,” Callum muttered as he passed behind me, voice low but edged. “Careful she doesn’t beat you with your own tips.”
I turned. “Drake, you hit the breaks like a tourist in Q2. That’s why you’re fifteenth.”
He stopped, jaw tightening. “Yeah, well, some of us don’t have a car that drives itself.”
I stepped forward before I could stop myself, closing the space between us. “We’re driving the exact same car.”
“Sure,” he said, voice steady but venomous. “Keep telling yourself that, champ.”
The grid noise dimmed around us—engines idling, mechanics pretending not to hear. For a heartbeat, it was just the two of us and the roar in my chest.
He leaned in, eyes sharp. “You don’t win three titles by luck. Or just by talent. If there’s something under that engine cover you’re not telling me—”
“You’re out of line,” I cut in, low enough that only he could hear.
“Yeah,” he said, a small, cold smile curling at his mouth, “but maybe I’m right.”
I took a step forward, and Mac’s hand landed on my arm before I could say something I’d regret.
“Save it for Turn One,” he said. “Helmet on.”
I exhaled sharply, restored my balaclava, picked up the helmet, and slid it over my head. The sound sealed away—the crowd, the heat, the tension—leaving only the hollow thump of my own heartbeat. I climbed back into my car. Belts tightened. Hands clamped my shoulders, securing them in place. The tubes of my cooling vest digging into my ribs.
The car hummed beneath me—alive, patient, deadly.
Mac’s voice crackled in my ear now. Calm. Steady. “Plan A is one stop. Keep temps under control. You know the drill.”
“Copy,” I said.
Out of the corner of my visor, I saw Sofia’s car in the next slot, her helmet tilting slightly toward me as the lights glared overhead. A nod—barely perceptible. A challenge.
The grid cleared. The air shimmered under the floodlights.
I led the formation lap, snaking the car side to side, testing the handling and feeling the hum of the engine around me. On returning to the grid, my heart was steady. I slid into my grid spot and set my gaze on the lights.
Precision. Power. Perfection.
One light.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
And then—black.
The lights vanished, and the world detonated.
