Zoe
I held very still, the small metal object cold in my palm, while Mason leaned in close enough that I could feel the tension radiating off him.
"Don't touch anything else," he said quietly. "Let me see it."
I passed it over carefully, and he turned it under the light with the kind of focus I imagined surgeons used. It was smaller than a house key, a thin metal cylinder with a tiny wire trailing off one end, snapped clean like it had been torn away from something larger.
"It's part of a timer," Mason said finally, his voice low. "A cheap one. The kind you'd use if you wanted something to fail at a specific moment instead of all at once."
My stomach turned over slow and cold. "You're saying someone rigged the bike to fail during the race."
"I'm saying someone rigged it to fail somew
