Page 83 of Knot So Lucky

Feels like race day, with that particular electric energy that crackles through the atmosphere when everything's on the line and there's no room for error.

But it's not supposed to be race day…

I was only discharged from the hospital three hours ago with strict instructions to rest and avoid strenuous activity. Thebruises covering my torso are still spectacular shades of purple and yellow. My ribs protest with every deep breath. There are bandages on my hands where I gripped the steering wheel so hard during the crash that the friction burned through my gloves.

So why does the garage look like we're prepping for the most important race of the season?

I stand there for a long moment, completely confused, trying to reconcile what I'm seeing with what I know about our schedule. We weren't supposed to have anything major until next week at the earliest. Just continued testing on the prototypes, diagnostic work, maybe some simulation runs.

Nothing that would require this level of coordinated frenzy.

One of the techs—Marco, I think, though it's hard to tell when everyone's moving so fast—notices me standing frozen in the doorway.

His face lights up with relief so profound it's almost comical.

"Oh my god, Rory!" He rushes over, nearly tripping over a toolbox in his haste. "I'm so glad you're okay, but wetotallyneed you right now."

His scent—the neutral Beta undertones mixed with stress pheromones—hits me before he does, and I have to actively prevent myself from taking a step back from the onslaught.

"What's the problem?" I ask, pitching my voice into that carefully practiced lower register even though my throat still hurts from smoke inhalation.

I follow Marco through the organized chaos toward the tech room, dodging around engineers carrying diagnostic equipment and other techs wheeling tool carts with the kind of speed that suggests urgency bordering on panic.

The tech room is even worse.

Two of our prototype models are completely disassembled—components spread across workstations in organized arraysthat speak to systematic troubleshooting. But the third model is already being prepped, which means...

I frown, scanning the room with growing confusion.

The third prototype is race-ready. Engine installed, aerodynamics finalized, sponsors’ logos gleaming on freshly painted carbon fiber. It's sitting in the bay with the kind of polish and precision that only happens when a car is about to go on track for something official.

"Did something happen without my knowledge?" I ask slowly, trying to piece together what I'm seeing. "Or what?"

Because this level of preparation doesn't happen overnight. This is days of work compressed into hours, which means either I lost more time in the hospital than I thought, or something changed dramatically while I was unconscious.

"We're hosting an unexpected race right now," one of the younger techs explains, not looking up from the diagnostic tablet he's frantically scrolling through. "Like,right now. It'll determine the top twenty teams entering the official Formula One race."

Huh?

Top twenty teams. Official Formula One race.Right now.

"When was this confirmed?" I demand, my carefully controlled voice cracking slightly with surprise.

"Last night," another tech answers, sliding under one of the disassembled models with a wrench. "Around 11 PM. Emergency announcement from the racing commission. You were probably still in the hospital or just discharged."

I nod slowly, mind racing through implications.

An unexpected qualifier race with less than twenty-four hours’ notice.

That's... unprecedented.

The kind of chaos that suggests either brilliant strategy or catastrophic mismanagement from the racing commission.

"Then what's the problem?" I ask, because clearly there's a problem beyond the general chaos of last-minute race prep.

Everyone else has gone back to their frantic work, leaving me with Jenna—one of our senior Beta techs who's been with the team longer than I have. She's in her early thirties, sharp-eyed and sharper-tongued, with the kind of no-nonsense competence that makes her invaluable during crisis situations.

She points at the other techs without looking away from me.