Page 40 of Knot So Fast (Speedverse #1)

Harrison's voice returns, higher pitched with stress. "They're closing in on the final sector! Be careful—Volkov is known for his aggressive tactics. He's not above contact if it means keeping position."

"Oh, I know all about Dmitri Dmitrievich Volkov," I say, the Russian name rolling off my tongue with surprising ease. "His little tap-and-spin maneuver in Singapore last year was a bit much, don't you think? Putting Nakamura in a coma just to keep third place? I guess anything for the win, right?"

The silence that follows my casual recitation of details I shouldn't know is deafening. Even the engine noise seems to fade for a moment as everyone processes the fact that I apparently remember specific racing incidents but not my own career.

But there's no time to dwell on the implications. We're approaching the final turn, and Marcus and Dex are going wild in the commentary box, their voices blending together in a crescendo of anticipation.

"This is it, folks! The final corner of what has been the most surprising race of the season!" Marcus screams.

"Volkov is defending hard, but Sugar&Spice has been faster through this section all race," Dex adds, his professional composure cracking slightly. "If she's going to make a move, it has to be now!"

I chew the last remnants of the gummy, thankful that Rory had also ensured that even if they did drug test me afterward, it wouldn't show up as anything prohibited.

The ingredients were all legal, all natural, all designed to keep me functional without breaking any rules.

Just a little help to keep the monsters at bay while I slay the real dragons on track.

The calming effects are in full force now, wrapping around my nervous system like a warm blanket.

But there's something else, something Rory had warned me about—my scent is spiking, sweetness sharp enough to cut through even the sealed environment of the cockpit.

The adrenaline is fighting against the calming agents, creating a chemical cocktail that's making my Omega characteristics go into overdrive.

I push it aside. None of that matters now. All that matters is this corner, this moment, this chance to prove that Auren Vale isn't done yet.

I position my car perfectly, drawing alongside Volkov as we hurtle toward the apex at speeds that blur the advertising boards into streams of color. Dex and Marcus are both talking at once, their words tumbling over each other as they try to describe what's happening.

I take a deep breath, and suddenly everything goes quiet.

It's like someone hit a mute button on the world. The engine noise fades to a distant hum. The commentary disappears. Even my own heartbeat seems to slow to a crawl. I'm in the zone, that perfect state of flow where thought becomes action without conscious decision.

My hands move on the steering wheel with surgical precision. My right foot eases off the throttle just enough to transfer weight to the front tires. My left foot hovers over the brake, ready to execute a move that's either brilliant or suicidal.

I turn in earlier than Volkov expects, earlier than any sane person would attempt at these speeds. But I'm not feeling particularly sane right now. I'm feeling alive in a way I haven't in a year, and I'm not about to waste this moment playing it safe.

Our cars touch— just barely, just enough .

My sidepods scrape against his rear wheel in a calculated bit of contact that would look like a racing incident to anyone not paying attention.

But I know exactly what I'm doing. The contact unsettles his car just enough to break his rear traction on the dusty side of the track.

He takes the bait beautifully, overcorrecting in exactly the way I predicted.

His car starts to slide, the back end stepping out as he fights to control it.

I'm already backing out of the throttle, letting my car rotate through the corner in a controlled drift that would make rally drivers weep with envy.

We're spinning—both of us, our cars dancing a violent ballet at speeds that turn physics into a suggestion rather than a law.

But while Volkov is fighting his car, I'm working with mine.

I've induced this spin on purpose, using his momentum against him while keeping just enough control to come out ahead.

I hit the brakes hard, feeling the anti-lock system chattering against my foot as I scrub off speed. The spin slows, the world stops whirling, and suddenly I'm pointing the right direction while Volkov is still rotating behind me, his speed bleeding off with every degree of unwanted rotation.

The moment my car settles, I slam the throttle to the floor.

The acceleration is violent, pressing me back into the seat as all 1000 horsepower tries to tear the car in half.

The traction control screams in protest before I override it, trusting my feel over the computer's calculations.

The rear tires light up in a cloud of smoke that obscures everything behind me, but I'm already gone, rocketing forward while fourth and fifth place are still trying to figure out how to navigate around Volkov's spinning Ferrari.

I don't realize how close I am to Lachlan until I see the checkered flag waving above us. We cross the line together—him just barely ahead, me close enough that the timing screens will need to check the photo finish to determine the exact gap.

The noise that erupts is deafening. The crowd in the grandstands, the team on the radio, the commentators—everyone is losing their minds at what they've just witnessed. But I turn off my radio, needing silence, needing to breathe, needing to process what I've just done.

I ease the car to a stop in a cloud of tire smoke, my hands shaking as I finally release the death grip I've had on the steering wheel for the past ninety minutes.

The trembling starts in my fingers and works its way up my arms, the adrenaline crash hitting me like a physical blow now that the immediate danger has passed.

But I'm smiling.

Grinning like a maniac beneath my helmet as I look up at the timing board to confirm what I already know:

1st - Lachlan Wolfe

2nd - Sugar & Spice

The tears come then, hot and unexpected, blurring my vision as the reality of what I've just accomplished crashes over me. I did it. Despite the memory loss, despite the year away, despite everyone trying to protect me from my own capabilities— I fucking did it.

But this is just the beginning.

The real show starts now, the moment I climb out of this car and show the world who's behind the mysterious pseudonym. The moment I stop being Sugar&Spice and reclaim my identity as Auren Vale.

My parents are probably watching. Hell, the entire racing world is watching, holding their breath to see who the mystery Omega is that just put on one of the most spectacular performances in recent memory. They wanted drama? They wanted a story?

Well, they're about to get one.

I reach for the release mechanisms on my helmet, my hands steady now despite the emotional storm raging inside me. Time to face the music. Time to deal with the consequences. Time to stop hiding and start living.

Time for me to reintroduce myself.