It was a long time before Dad finally spoke, his voice so low he might as well have been muttering to himself.
"When you were six, throwing an absolute fit in my car, I knew something was off. A kid from the Clayton family? There's no way they'd be that terrified of vehicles. But I didn't dare dig too deep. I was scared I'd overthink it, only to end up with the same disappointing result no matter what." He then turned his head to look at me. "Max…"
"Hmm?"
"Were you a racer in your past life too?"
I froze.
He smiled. "The look on your face when you're on a bike? It's exactly the same as your grandpa's. No excitement in your eyes, just bone-deep weariness. Like someone who's finally come home to the place they know better than anything."
I went quiet for a long time.
"Dad," I finally
