Page 91 of Knot So Lucky

Now I'm just a driver.

Designation irrelevant. Gender immaterial. Nothing but skill and nerve and the willingness to push machinery to its absolute limits.

I grab my gear and head toward the garage bay where the second prototype is waiting.

Jenna's there, tablet in hand, coordinating the final checks with the kind of focused intensity that makes her invaluable during crisis situations.

"Cale's already lined up," she says without preamble, not looking up from her screen. "They're about to make official announcements. You need to be in position in three minutes."

I nod, sliding into the car with practiced efficiency.

The cockpit fits like a second skin—seat molded to accommodate driver dimensions, controls positioned exactly where muscle memory expects them. It's not my usual environment, but the fundamentals are the same. Steering wheel, pedals, gear shift, a dashboard full of information that my brain knows how to parse.

The engine rumbles to life with a roar that vibrates through the chassis and into my bones.

God, I've missed this feeling.

The announcement system crackles to life, pulling everyone's attention toward the screens positioned throughout the facility.

"Good afternoon, drivers and teams. Welcome to the emergency Formula One qualifier. The rules are as follows..."

The announcer's voice drones through standard regulations—track boundaries, penalty conditions, overtaking protocols. Things every professional driver has memorized since childhood.

But then comes the final rule.

The one that changes everything.

"...and finally, per the reinstated Omega Participation Initiative: each team advancing to the top twenty positions will be required to field at least one Omega driver in competitive Formula One races. Failure to meet this requirement will result in immediate disqualification from the league."

The announcer pauses, letting that sink in.

"Best of luck to all competitors."

The announcement ends, and chaos erupts.

I can hear it through the comm system—teams cursing, strategists scrambling, the sudden realization that half the field might not qualify regardless of performance because they don't have Omega drivers.

The techs in my ear are no exception.

"Fuck!"

"How are we supposed to?—"

"We don't have an Omega on the team?—"

"Roran can't race if the rule requires?—"

I start moving the car toward the starting line, cutting through the panic with action.

Cale's voice cuts through the chatter, sharp with frustration.

"Where's Roran? How the fuck are we going to get into the top ten when we don't have an Omega driver now that they just announced this shit?"

I key my mic, keeping my voice pitched in that lower register that's become second nature.

"Well, everyone's stuck in the same boat standing at the starting line."

There's absolute silence on the comm channel.