Except Bree.
He’d finished securing the small cylinder in the frame channel and was threading the hose along a narrow groove, pinning it under the existing wiring so that at a glance, it looked like part of the original loom. His movements were brisk and confident.
She squinted, trying to follow the line. The hose ran up toward the front of the bike, disappearing under the tank, then emerging again near the handlebars. He looped it around a bracket, then connected it to something that looked innocuous: a small pressure switch wired into the horn assembly.
She saw his fingers test it, pressing the horn button once. No sound. He adjusted a screw, pressed again. Still no audible honk.
But the tiny gauge near the cylinder’s valve fluttered.
Her skin prickled.
She remembered Brian leaning against Hank’s trailer, listing ways to cheat. Hidden nitrous. Illegal mapping. Tricks that give a burst of power when you need it.
She didn’t know what exactly sat inside that little cylinder, but she knew it wasn’t stock. She knew the frame hadn’t been built to house it, because she’d watched that same frame earlier, empty. She remembered how clean the inside line had looked when one of the other techs had run a cloth along it.
Her mouth went dry.
Einstein worked quickly, securing the frame panel back into place. Once it was closed, you wouldn’t know anything lurked under there unless you knew where to press.
He smoothed a hand along the metal, satisfied, then stood and stretched his back. He glanced toward the argument by the suit, rolled his eyes once, and turned to put his tools away.
Bree realized she’d been holding her breath.
Carmen nudged her elbow. “You okay?”
Bree forced her mouth into something like a smile. “Yeah. Just… loud in here.”
Carmen accepted that, thankfully. She didn’t push. Most people would’ve asked more questions, poked at her expression, tried to drag out what she was thinking. Carmen simply turned her attention back to the suit fight without a second glance.
Bree breathed out slowly.
Her pulse hadn’t steadied. Her hands hadn’t either. She pressed her fingers around her sketchbook to mask the tremor and focused on slowing her breath.
She didn’t trust her voice enough to speak again just yet.
Einstein moved away from the bike, casual as you please, wiping his gloves on a rag. No one looked at him. Every gaze in the pit stayed locked on Heidi, flinging her hands, and Marcus lecturing the manufacturer rep.
And that was the problem.
No one noticed what they should’ve noticed.
Her stomach tightened. She knew enough to know she didn’t fully understand what she’d seen — but she also knew enough to understand it was wrong. Something about it felt like too much precision in too quiet a corner.
Bree stepped back, pretending she needed a little more space. Her heart beat too hard, too fast. If she stayed another minute, she was going to telegraph her panic, and Carmen would ask questions Bree couldn’t answer.
She needed to get out of here.
She needed Hank.
“Hey,” Carmen said, softer now. “You sure you’re good?”
Bree nodded quickly. Too quickly.
Carmen’s brows knit. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
Bree forced a breath. “Just… overwhelmed. This isn’t really my world.”
Carmen’s expression eased with sympathy instead of suspicion. “Yeah, it’s a lot the first time. Heidi goes overboard, and Marcus feeds off of an audience. You won’t hurt my feelings if you need some air.”
