Lucien Vale
The desert night air was still warm when I pulled into the Vale Racing Compound. Forty acres of concrete, glass, and controlled chaos under the stars. The garages never truly slept, hydrogen lines hissed softly, test engines occasionally screamed in the distance but something felt wrong the second the gates closed behind me.
Marcus was waiting inside Bay Three. No tablet. No briefing folder. Just his solid frame standing under the harsh overhead lights, hands loose at his sides. I’d seen that posture before.
I killed the engine and stepped out, boots echoing on stained concrete. “What happened?”
Marcus didn’t soften it. He never did.
“We caught the man from your lobby. The suspect on the security footage who planted the drugs.”
I stopped a few feet away. The words didn’t
