Engines sounded from different corners, sharply distinct notes like voices in a choir. Wrenches clinked. An air gun rattled in short bursts. The tang of fuel layered over salt and sunscreen.
Carmen wove through the maze of trailers with the ease of someone who’d done it a dozen times. Bree stayed tight to her side, careful not to cross any painted lines without invitation, aware of how many strangers’ eyes tracked new movement on autopilot.
They passed Hank’s pit. Julie sat on her stand like a coiled spring, gleaming. Colby was hunched over the laptop again, Brian nowhere in sight.
Bree’s stride hitched.
Carmen noticed. “Want to stop?” she asked quietly.
“In a minute,” Bree said. “If I see him now, I’ll be tempted to stay. You said Heidi needed you.”
Carmen made a noncommittal sound. “Heidi thinks she needs everyone.”
The Red Dragons’ setup came into view a moment later. Their hauler loomed behind the pits, glossy black with a stylized red dragon curling along the side. The logo wrapped around the back doors, teeth bared, eyes narrowed.
Music pumped from speakers set on the tailgate of a pickup, some pounding rock song with a driving beat. Two girls in crop tops and cutoffs leaned against the truck, talking to one of the younger crew members, who puffed up visibly with every laugh he earned.
Closer to the bikes, the mood was less playful.
Heidi stood in the center of the taped-off area, holding a glossy red-and-black leather suit up to her body as if she were in a fitting room that had lost its walls. Her jaw was tight, her eyes sharp, and the words coming out of her mouth sounded like they’d been honed on glass.
“It’s wrong,” she snapped. “The lines are wrong, the shoulders are too wide, and if Marcus leans in the way he rides, the colors are going to warp. It’ll look like a cheap knockoff on camera.”
The man she was chewing out wore a polo shirt with a small manufacturer logo at the collar and carried a tablet. He looked sweaty and miserable.
“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.
