“How’s Reese?” Veronica asked, sliding a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
Sloane paused and recalled their last conversation that morning, when Reese was gutted not to be heading off to race that day like her friends at the academy and her teammates at Laurens. “I think she’s restless. She misses the action.” She shrugged. “Selfishly, it buys me some breathing room.”
Veronica gestured for her to walk, guiding them away from curious ears. “You’re not relishing the idea of her driving in an F1 race.”
“I’d be thrilled to see her behind the wheel, living her dream,” Sloane said quietly. “And absolutely terrified at the same time. I keep telling myself it’s a problem for Future-Sloane.”
Veronica gave her a look. “Is that going to work long-term? If you want this to last, you probably need to talk to Reese about it.”
Sloane exhaled slowly. “Probably not. But every time I think about that conversation, my heart rate spikes and I start checking where all the exits are.” Her jaw set, body going rigid. The thought of something happening to Reese was unbearable.
Veronica studied her as someone who understood the cost. “That fear never goes away,” she said finally. “You just decide it’s worth it. We’ve all been there.”
Sloane nodded, gaze drifting back to the circuit where the echo of engines still hung in the air.
“Still,” Veronica added lightly, “if Reese is restless, she’s right where she needs to be. Drivers hate waiting. It’s a good thing. Means they’re hungry.”
Sloane smiled despite herself. “She’s starving.”
“Talk to her.”
“And ruin all this?” Sloane murmured. “I care too much about her. Feels selfish.”
“Well, you’re not.”
“Ms. Vance?” The documentary crew that followed Reese hovered nearby. “Could we grab you for a second?”
“Sure.” Veronica turned back to Sloane. “We’re not done.”
“I wouldn’t presume.”
Alone again, Sloane checked her watch. The F1 Grand Prix would be starting soon. She wanted to catch the race, cheer for her girlfriend’s team, and, just for today, take comfort in the knowledge that Reese would not be behind the wheel.
There were only so many pit walks, sponsor obligations, and polite media smiles a person could endure before the edges frayed. Reese was there. She watched her teammates climb into the car, yet again, with a familiar ache, adrenaline humming uselessly in her bloodstream. Waiting, it turned out, was harder than failing.
The academy’s sprint race was in progress in Austria that morning. She’d grabbed a prime spot to take in the action,enjoying cheering for her friends between obligations. Marissa was flying, leading the pack with Danielle hot on her heels. With Delaney in P3, the race was shaping up to be an exciting one with the win up for grabs. Halfway through, Samara tapped Reese on the shoulder. They’d been following her that morning, grabbing footage of a day in the life of her new reserve role. “Can we do a quick Q and A with the race happening in the background. We’ve got a setup over there if you’re willing. Five minutes.”
“Yeah. Okay,” Reese said, reluctant to be pulled away from the action and not wanting to miss a pivotal overtake. “But we have to be quick. It’s just getting good over there.”
They got her set up in record time, and, honoring her request, Samara jumped right in.
“You do a lot of fan interaction for Laurens. What’s the one thing you hear from the fans the most?”
Reese didn’t have to think about it. Her smile came easily, spreading before she even realized it was there. “I hear from so many young girls who now believe they can grow up and be an F1 driver, too. And if my presence helps spark that belief, then I can’t imagine wanting anything more. It’s become a theme, and I don’t mind it at all. In fact,” she added softly, “it fills me up every single time.”
“I love hearing that,” Samara said, taking a moment to enjoy the sentiment. “Now let me ask you about the day that?—”
Behind her, the world detonated.
The sound came first—an explosivecrackof metal on metal, followed immediately by a deep, concussiveboomthat punched the air from Reese’s lungs. She was confused. Her brain couldn’t keep up with her senses. Heat washed over her back as a plume of fire erupted trackside, bright and violent, sending debris skittering across the asphalt. Screams tore through the crowd. Reese spun just in time to see a car cartwheel through smoke, flames licking hungrily at shattered carbon fiber before itslammed to a halt in a cloud of sparks. For a moment, everything froze. No numbers, no colors, no recognition—just the sickening certainty that someone she loved was in that wreck. Her pulse roared in her ears as marshals sprinted past, extinguishers raised, and Reese stood rooted in place, heart hammering, unable to breathe until she knewwhohadn’t climbed out.
“No, no, no,” Reese murmured, her eyes scanning the scene for any kind of information.
The fire didn’t die down. Itfedon something, flames curling higher as the car sat twisted against the barrier, one wheel still spinning uselessly. Marshals swarmed it, yellow flags snapping, but no one was moving inside the cockpit. No hand. No helmet. Nothing. Reese took an unconscious step forward, Samara’s hand catching her elbow as the crowd noise dissolved into a low, terrified roar. Her brain began its cruel inventory—Marissa was leading. Delaney was P3. Cassidy had been behind them. Where was Cassidy?She hated herself for the way the question landed like a verdict.
Seconds stretched past reason. The fire finally faltered, smoke rolling low and black as marshals hesitated, then leaned in, working fast, urgently. Reese’s heart hammered so loudly she couldn’t hear the commentary anymore, only the sharp, frantic command of her own thoughts:Move. Please move.But the cockpit stayed sealed, the car lifeless in a way that felt wrong, and the absence of motion became unbearable.
Then the marshals reached in—and pulled a body free.
