Draven's POV
The scent of engine oil and heated metal clung to the air like a second skin.
It was familiar. Comforting, even. The low growl of bike engines idling in the training yard vibrated through the soles of my boots, through bone and muscle, settling somewhere deep in my chest where instinct lived.
I folded my arms across my chest as twenty men and three women stood in uneven rows before me, helmets tucked under their arms. Some alert. Some bored. Some openly defiant. The late afternoon sun burned high overhead, glinting off chrome and matte black frames. Heat shimmered off the dirt track behind them.
A very dangerous terrain.
Exactly how it should be.
“This isn’t a hobby,” I said, voice carrying easily across the yard. “This is survival. If we are going to control the outer
