—Natasha's POV—
A palpable, gravitational pull drew the entire chaotic assembly toward the starting line, a grim procession moving to the rhythm of crunching gravel and the arrhythmic thunder of engines being tested one last time.
The air, thick with the cloying sweetness of race fuel and the damp, earthy scent of the surrounding pines, was now laced with a new, acrid flavor: the smell of human fear and ferocity.
This was no longer a party; it was a primal ritual. The crowd, a seething mass of leather jackets, anxious whispers, and painted faces, buzzed with a feverish energy that was equal parts celebration and vigil. They were here to witness glory, but they would not turn away from tragedy.
I stood apart, trapped in a bubble of my own dread, my body humming with a terror so viscer
