“You agreed to the prototype,” he said. “If we reprint the suit, the cost goes up, and the sponsor is already at their cap.”
“They’ll find the money,” Heidi said. “If they want their logo on the Cup podium.”
Marcus appeared then, walking up from the direction of the timing shack, sunglasses hooked in the collar of his shirt. He took in the scene with a quick sweep of his gaze.
“What’s wrong now?” he asked.
Heidi whirled on him. “They butchered the shoulder line. The dragon’s going to look like it’s sliding off your chest every time you lean. It’ll read sloppy.”
Marcus looked at Bree, then at Carmen, then at the suit.
He didn’t glance once at Einstein.
“That is sloppy,” he agreed immediately. “We can’t look like amateurs at the biggest race of the season.”
“Thank you,” Heidi said, throwing her free hand up like she’d won something.
“We can make minor adjustments,” the rep said. “But if you expect us to retool the entire run overnight, it’s not going to happen.”
Heidi launched into a fresh argument, voice climbing. Marcus stepped closer, aligning himself with her, adding his own pressure. Carmen pinched the bridge of her nose.
The argument pulled everyone’s focus. The crew looked over. The girls by the truck leaned in. Even the kid with the chain stopped humming to watch the fireworks.
No one watched Einstein.
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.
