Chapter Text
Prologue
The air at the racetrack buzzed with energy, the roar of engines, and the hum of the crowd. Banners snapped in the wind, their colors bright against the sky. Sophia Elizabeth Laforteza stepped from her car, breathing in the familiar sting of gasoline and rubber. Her heart beat faster, in tune with the pounding engines around her, the pulse of the track pulling her forward.
Megan Skiendiel leaned against the railing, arms crossed, the corners of her mouth curled into a smirk. “Well, if it isn’t the queen of chaos,” she said, her voice carrying above the noise. “You ready to show these rookies how to wreck a car?”
Sophia smirked back, hands tightening into fists. “Always,” she said, her voice hard, her mind already locked on the track. She didn’t hear the rest, didn’t need to. Her world narrowed to the road ahead, the sound of engines fading to a low thrum.
Once the rookie match began, everything but the car disappeared. The wheel was an extension of her hands, the gas pedal an extension of her foot, and she tore through the first corner like a storm. The wind hit her face, cold and sharp. The tires screamed as she pushed the limits, the asphalt biting back with every turn.
“Look at her!” Yoonchae’s voice echoed from the sidelines, barely audible over the chaos. “She’s insane!”
Sophia laughed, the sound raw in her throat, half joy and half challenge. She danced with the edge of control, inches from disaster with every swerve, each near-miss sending a fresh wave of adrenaline through her. When she crossed the finish line, her friends’ cheers felt distant, almost muffled. Her eyes were already scanning the pro section.
Meret Manon Bannerman stood apart, distant, arms crossed, eyes hooded. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch as the rookies finished. There was no reaction at all, just the same blank stare, as though the race was nothing more than a passing breeze.
Sophia felt the sting, sharp and sudden, cutting through the thrill of victory. “What’s her problem?” she muttered, jaw tight. “Does she think she’s too good to watch?”
“Focus on your next race,” Megan said, giving her a playful nudge. “She can keep being an ice block if she wants.”
The pros lined up soon after, and the mood shifted. The crowd quieted, eyes fixed on the starting line. Sophia felt her pulse quicken as Manon’s team gathered around her—Daniela Avanzini, Lara Rajagopalan, and the others—all eyes on the track.
When the pros took off, the race was pure precision. Manon’s style was surgical, each movement was calculated. Sophia watched, her throat tight, as Manon danced through the turns with effortless control. The difference between them was distinct—Manon’s clean, deliberate motions contrasting with Sophia’s raw, reckless style.
Manon crossed the finish line first, unsurprising but still breathtaking in its ease. The crowd cheered, but Sophia couldn’t shake the knot in her stomach.
“Too easy,” Megan said beside her, voice thick with sarcasm.
“She’s had plenty of practice,” Sophia muttered, arms crossed, frowning.
After the races, Sophia retreated to the parking lot, the buzz of the day still in her veins. She pulled off her helmet, catching her reflection in the mirror—wild hair, flushed cheeks, and the hint of exhaustion in her eyes.
“Let’s go home,” she whispered. She drove home slowly, the road quiet. Somewhere ahead, she knew, there were more races to run, more battles to fight. But for now, the wind and the open road carried her forward, away from the doubts and toward whatever waited next.
Her apartment was still, the faint scent of laundry detergent lingering in the air. She kicked off her shoes, her body aching from the day. In the bathroom, under the harsh fluorescent light, she ran her fingers over a dark bruise on her thigh, wincing slightly at the tenderness.
“Where did I even get this?” she asked her reflection, but no answer came. Her eyes drifted to a picture on the dresser—her younger self, smiling wide, full of ambition.
She collapsed onto the bed, exhaustion tugging at her limbs. But even as her body gave in, her mind stayed restless. Manon’s coldness nagged at her, a distant figure in the back of her thoughts, reminding her that racing wasn’t just speed and daring. It was strategy. Control. And maybe something else she hadn’t yet learned.
Pulling the blanket over herself, Sophia’s eyes fluttered shut. Her mind replayed the day in flickers—flashes of tires screeching, engines roaring, and the ever-still figure of someone watching from the sidelines.