“Heidi,” he said, patient but clearly tired. “The template is the same as last season’s. We adjusted for the new sponsor badge and added side vents like you asked. There’s only so much we can alter without compromising impact protection.”
“Then you’re not trying hard enough,” she fired back. “This is the Copper Moon Cup, not some backlot sprint. The suit has to move with him. The dragon’s head needs to stay visible through the whole roll, not get swallowed by a seam.”
She shook the suit once for emphasis. The light flashed on the embossed dragon scales along the chest and shoulders. Bree had to admit, it was striking.
“Here we go,” Carmen murmured. “Storm warning.”
Heidi spotted them and homed in. “Finally,” she said. “A person with taste. Bree, thank God. Come here.”
Bree nearly glanced behind herself to see who else Heidi might mean. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” Heidi said. She shoved the suit into Carmen’s arms and reached for Bree’s hand. “Come stand right here. I need a fresh set of eyes.”
Carmen shot Bree a quick apologetic look over the glossy leather, then stepped aside as Heidi pulled Bree into the center of the pits.
Bree felt every gaze that turned their way. Crew members, hangers-on, and one of the riders. Marcus wasn’t in sight yet, which made the stage feel even higher, somehow; the actors gathering before the lead.
Heidi held the suit up in front of Bree, squinting, then circled her, muttering under her breath.
“You’re close enough to my measurements,” Heidi decided. “Turn a little. There. Okay. Pretend you’re straddling a bike.”
Bree blinked. “I’ve never straddled a bike in my life.”
“That’s tragic,” a crew member said.
Carmen glared at him. “Watch it.”
He lifted both hands and backed up a step.
Heidi made an impatient sound. “Fine. Just imagine you’re leaning forward, arms out. Like this.” She grabbed Bree’s wrist and placed it on an invisible handlebar in the air, then did the same with the other hand. “Perfect. Now, look at the chest.”
Bree looked.
The dragon’s head sat centered across the chest, its body curling over the ribs, tail wrapping low along the hip. It was beautiful work; the color gradation, the stitching, the subtle stainless accents that would catch the light.
But Heidi was right about one thing. With Bree’s arms up, the dragon’s eye tipped toward her shoulder instead of the camera line; the lower jaw distorted along where a rib protector seam would sit.
“It pulls,” Bree said, surprised at her own certainty. “When you lift your arms, the eye tilts. The snout gets… pinched.”
Heidi pointed at her like she’d solved a proof. “Exactly. Thank you.”
She turned back on the manufacturer rep. “See? It’s wrong.”
He sighed. “We can lower the graphic three centimeters and widen the chest panel. Anything more, and the articulation suffers. It’s a tradeoff.”
“Then we prioritize the shot from the outside of the turns,” Heidi said. “Shift the weight of the graphic so it reads clean from the primary camera angle.”
The two of them launched into a rapid-fire argument about seams, relief cuts, and camera placement. Carmen slid closer to Bree, still holding the suit.
“Welcome to my life,” she said under her breath. “She does this with every set of uniforms. You should’ve seen the soccer league last spring.”
“She cares,” Bree said softly.
“She cares about winning the visual,” Carmen replied. “Which, to be fair, matters. Just maybe not as much as not blowing a valve at one fifty.”
Bree’s gaze drifted past them.
Two bikes sat on stands, front wheels off, frame cradled on padded blocks. One of the younger riders tinkered with the chain on a third bike, humming in time with the music. At the far edge of the taped line, near the hauler, Einstein crouched beside a stripped-down frame.
