Page 164 of Knot So Lucky

"I'm not jealous," he grumbles, but the defensive tone suggests otherwise. "I'm maintaining professional standards and ensuring this team stays focused on racing instead of?—"

"Instead of what?" I interrupt, enjoying his discomfort more than I probably should. "Building pack bonds? Getting to know each other? Engaging in perfectly normal courtship behavior between pack members?"

Luca opens his mouth, closes it, then grumbles something incomprehensible.

I laugh—genuinely delighted by his inability to articulate whatever jealous Alpha bullshit is running through his head.

"You're ridiculous," I tell him, still grinning. "But fine. Let's discuss the strategy for the afternoon session. What did you want to cover?"

Luca launches into a technical discussion about racing lines and tire management, and I can tell he's using work as a deflection from actual emotions he doesn't want to acknowledge.

But I let him have it, because pack dynamics are still settling, and pushing too hard too fast could backfire.

The team assembles for the afternoon test session with the kind of focused energy that suggests everyone knows how important this is.

Our first real session together as a unified pack.

Our first chance to prove that merging Apex Racing with Thorne Racing wasn't just a desperate scramble to meet FIA requirements, but an actual strategic advantage.

Richard stands at the center of the pit area, clipboard in hand and Alpha pheromones radiating authority.

"Alright people, listen up!" His voice carries across the facility. "This is a full simulation run. Three drivers rotating through two-hour stints. Pit crew executing race-pace changes. Tech team monitoring all systems in real-time."

He points at me specifically. "Rory, you're lead tech on diagnostics. Anything feels off, you call it immediately. We're here to find problems before they find us on race day."

I nod, already mentally running through my checklist.

The session starts smoothly. Cale takes the first stint, pushing the prototype through its paces with the kind of aggressive precision that made him a three-time champion. The telemetry looks good—power delivery is smooth, tire degradation is within expected parameters, lap times are consistently strong.

Luca takes the second stint, and if anything he's even faster than Cale. His racing line is clinical perfection, extracting every possible tenth of a second from the car's performance envelope.

I monitor the data streams with Elias beside me, both of us watching for anomalies or patterns that suggest potential problems.

"Everything looks nominal," Elias murmurs, scrolling through diagnostic readouts. "Temperature management is excellent, no unusual vibrations, fuel consumption tracking predictions perfectly."

"Too perfectly," I mutter, unease prickling at the back of my neck.

Because in racing, nothing is ever this clean. There are always minor issues—small imperfections that need addressing, unexpected interactions between systems that require adjustment.

But right now? Everything is reading like a textbook ideal.

Which either means we've somehow built the perfect race car, or?—

"FIRE! FIRE IN THE PIT!"

The shout comes from one of the crew members, panic cutting through the professional atmosphere like a blade.

I'm moving before conscious thought, racing toward the pit bay where flames are suddenly visible near the fuel system access point.

The fire suppression system activates immediately—foam erupts from overhead nozzles, smothering the flames before they can spread to the fuel tanks and cause a catastrophic explosion.

But even with the quick response, my heart is hammering.

Because fire in the pit, near the fuel systems, during a hot session? That's nightmare scenario territory.

The car is safely extracted, the flames extinguished, and miraculously, no one was injured.

But the close call has everyone's nerves jangling with adrenaline.