—Natasha's POV—
The unified roar of the crowd shattered, breaking apart like a pane of glass into a thousand sharp, discordant fragments. What was once a single entity of sound now became a chaotic symphony of confusion, wild speculation, and a dark, burgeoning excitement.
The impossible had happened, and the audience was divided, electrified by the unprecedented stalemate. Near the finish line, the small, huddled cluster of race officials became a frantic pantomime of helplessness. They pointed at the frozen numbers on the timing screen, their voices rising in sharp, technical arguments that were swallowed by the growing din.
But their final, collective gesture—a universal, defeated shrug—spoke louder than any announcement. In the clear-cut, brutal history of the Full-Moon Run, a tie
