—Natasha's POV—
The post-race chaos had bled away, leaving the vast, empty parking lot feeling like a stage after the actors had departed. The only remnants were the ghosts of roaring engines and the sharp, acrid scent of burnt rubber and spilled fuel that clung to the cool night air. Under the sickly, orange glow of a single sodium-vapor light, I found Enzo.
He was leaning heavily against the side of his team's support van, the silver of his racing suit looking tarnished and weary under the artificial light. He was trying to look composed, discussing something in a low voice with his head mechanic, but his body betrayed him.
I saw the way he subtly favored his right leg, the barely perceptible tightening around his eyes as he shifted his weight.
"Enzo," I said, my voice cutting thro
