Snow tastes like metal tonight.
Cold. Sharp. Wrong.
The city is drenched in December haze — neon lights blurred by snowfall, engines rumbling under fog, the underground racetrack breathing like a living thing beneath the frost. Racers swarm around me, laughter reckless, cigarettes glowing, exhaust fumes rising like ghosts.
But all I can feel is eyes on me.
Not Adrian’s.
Not Rogue’s.
Something else.
Something colder.
Something pretending.
Zee bumps my shoulder gently.
“Vega, you good?” she asks, scarf wrapped high, curls damp from the snow. “You look like you’re waiting for your ex to show up and confess he’s Santa.”
I force a hollow laugh. “I wish it were that simple.”
She narrows her eyes, studying me the way only a best friend can — like she sees the bruises under my heartbea
