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You should be here, I think, lifting my gaze to the sky.

The sharp warning signal echoes through the air, and every car lines up at the starting point.

I’ve raced here so many times that I could move through this place with my eyes closed. With my foot on the accelerator, I wait for the start, hoping it will help me forget everything for a few minutes.

I want the adrenaline. The danger. I want to push past my limits and feel alive.

The signal flashes.

My car lurches forward with such force that my entire body jerks in the seat. Tires screech to drown out every thought in my head.

City lights blur around me as I shift gears almost automatically, my hands firm on the wheel even as my pulse pounds harder with every second.

A black car pulls beside me in the right lane, aggressive and reckless, trying to force me off course before the first turn. I tighten my grip and accelerate harder, refusing to give him an inch.

The curve approaches fast. Too fast.

I turn at the last second, the tires sliding dangerously close to the edge. For a brief moment, everything slips beyond my control—the back of the car drifting, the violent screech of rubber, the crowd shouting somewhere in the distance.

Then I regain control.

The car straightens beneath my hands as if it’s part of me, responding instantly when I slam my foot down again. The engine growls, raw and furious, adrenaline burning through my veins so intensely that a grin spreads across my face for the first time in days.

Weeks.

The finish line appears ahead.

The other driver is still close enough for me to hear his engine, but not close enough to catch me.

I cross the line first.

The noise around me erupts immediately—cheers, whistles, voices screaming my name—but all I hear is the blood rushing through my ears as I lean back into the seat, breathing heavily.

For a few minutes, everything disappeared.

The pain.

The emptiness.

The memories.

But now it all crashes back into me with a suffocating weight, just like every morning when I wake from restless sleep that never feels like rest at all.

For so long, I wanted Selene and couldn’t have her. She belonged to someone else, and there was nothing I could do about it. Then fate finally let me taste what it was like to have her, only to tear it away before I even had the chance to truly enjoy it.

And the worst part is that I have nothing left to fight. No chance of winning. Nothing I could say or do would change any of this.

Leaving the hotel room that night—and leaving Romania—hurt less than staying would have.

Because my biggest fear had finally been confirmed.

She’s never going to be mine again.

The thought settles beneath my ribs, heavy and immovable. I stare through the windshield without seeing the lights beyond it, my fingers still wrapped around the steering wheel even though the race is over.

For the first time tonight, I don’t want to drive anywhere.

I just sit here, listening to the engine tick as it cools, and let the silence fill the space the noise had kept away.