The black Elford cruiser—not the Varkos—waited at the outer loading bay, idling silently. Sleeker, quieter, built more for security and comfort than performance. Vivienne and Damien stepped off the pit level, the quiet buzz of residual adrenaline still humming between them.
Merek stood by the cruiser, arms folded, waiting. The track had long since shut down—lights dimmed, doors sealed behind layers of security—but the old circuit manager remained, his presence as much routine as discipline.
Vivienne gave him a short nod. "It's clear. We'll be leaving now."
He returned it with the precision of someone who had spent decades under the hierarchy of elite protocols. But then his eyes shifted to Damien.
"You drove well," Merek said. Not casual. Measured.
Damien blinked. "Thanks. But how did you know I was a first-timer?"
