I peeled off before they could corral me. I pulled out my phone the second I stepped backstage.
Still nothing from Elena.
No texts. No calls. No updates.
My gut twisted.
I knew she could take care of herself. She was sharp, relentless. Braver than most people gave her credit for. But still—I couldn’t shake the sense that something had shifted. That I was missing something.
And I hated that feeling more than anything.
Chapter Twenty Seven – Evening Post Qualifying
Aleksandr Volkov – Seoul Hotel
I knocked on the door, phone in hand open at our chat. My last three messages unread. Worry gnawed at my insides.
I leaned close to the door and caught muffled movement on the other side. A moment later, the door opened a crack. Elena peeked out at me and relief rushed over her face. She opened the door wider and ushered me inside without a word.
“What’s happening?” I asked. “Where have you been all day?”
“Working.” She closed the door and led me past the tiny bathroom and into the main room. The bed was strewn with papers, her laptop sat open in the middle of the chaos.
“Well, there goes my plan to throw you onto the bed and have my way with you. What is all this?”
“The proof.” She looked up at me, eyes wide and glistening. Was that excitement? Or fear? Maybe both. A lump formed in my throat.
“What proof?”
“Of the cheating. It’s all here. The download logs, the FIA complicity. All of it.”
“What?” Disbelief roared through my veins and I looked around at all of the documents as if trying to confirm it myself. But the lines of numbers meant nothing to me.
“Aleks,” she approached me and grabbed hold of my shoulders. “This is what I’ve been searching for, for weeks. I have everything now. I’ve been going over and over it all day and trying to write my article around it. It’s overwhelming though. And I’m terrified that any moment the FIA are going to knock on my door and take it all away.”
“What are you talking about?” I felt as though I’d missed a step somewhere.
“They know everything. Or some people do. There’s an FIA scrutineer who is helping Obsidian to get away with it. Have you heard of Klaus Hartmann?”
“Of course I have, he’s often in our garage.” I was still trying to catch up with her but her expression was full of ‘gotcha’ as if this was all the proof required. “Elena… this doesn’t mean anything. It’s a small world.”
“Not that small. The FIA employs hundreds of people.” She stalked around the bed and started scooping up papers. “Haven’t you ever wondered why it’s nearly always Hartmann signing off your car?”
“No. I just assumed he was assigned to our team.”
She shook her head. “Every other team gets a rotation of scrutineers. Even Drake’s car is signed off by a dozen different people in any given season. It’s just your car.”
“Where did you get all this?” I gestured at the mess.
“A source.”
“Really? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
“Yes.” She stopped and looked at me. “I have to protect my sources, Aleks.”
I nodded, my lips pressed tight. Panic rose in my chest. More than that. Fear. My pulse raced and my palms grew clammy.
“Don’t write this story, Elena.”
