Page 126 of Ace of Spades

My skin pale and blotchy from crying all night. I splash cold water over my face, again and again, until the sting drowns out everything else. Until the girl staring back at me doesn't look so broken.

You’re the captain now. Remember?

I straighten my shoulders, pull my hair back into a high, fierce ponytail, and force my shaking hands to tie the laces on my boots. I’m dressed head to toe in red. The SKC color. And today’s battle armor.

Today isn't about heartbreak. It isn't about Levi walking away.

It's about winning.

Because if I don't—ifwedon't—there won't be a shop left to fight for.

The lobby is already buzzing by the time I make it downstairs.

The energy is manic. Even worse than it was yesterday morning. There are shuttles lined up outside. Crews pacing, stretching, cramming energy bars into their mouths, like we’re getting ready to compete in the Olympics. Crew chiefs and foremen are barking last-minute strategies.

Cameras areeverywhere.

A boom mic swings a little too close to my face and I duck it with a grimace.

I spot my crew near the entrance. My rag tag band of misfits.

Gramps is just people watching everyone as they walk by. Kick is pacing, chatting on the phone with someone. Ghost is carving something out of wood, and Joey’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking like he’s getting ready for the main event of an MMA fight.

Then there’s Levi.

He’s a fortress of a man, standing off to the side with his arms crossed, jaw locked tight. Looking like the fight of his life is ahead of him. He just suppresses all his nervous energy into a rock solid facade.

He doesn’t look at me when I approach. Doesn’t dare.

Good.

Because if he did, I’d probably crumble into a thousand pieces and I don’t have the luxury of getting to do that at the moment.

"Alright," I say, louder than I feel like saying it. "We know the plan. We know our strengths. Today, we don't build for the cameras. We build for us. For SKC. For what we’ve worked our asses off for."

The crew nods, fierce and focused. And I love that they can meet me there.

We pile onto the shuttles, and soon enough, we're rolling into the chaos of the build grounds.

This is it. Day Two. The final battle.

The cameras swoop low, capturing every grim expression, every flex of muscle, every bead of sweat that hasn't even fully formed on our brows yet.

There's a scoreboard now, giant and looming over the build pits, flashing between crew names and scores from yesterday's first round preliminary votes. We're not dead last.

But damn, we're close.

A hair’s breadth away from the edge. But I know that’s only because the audience can’t see what we have envisioned yet. Sometimes people don’t buy in, until they’re able to see the same thing we’ve seen all along.

And what we have… it’s going to blow their minds.

The second the horn blares, we dive in.

Kick's throwing sparks from the welder like a demon possessed. Gramps is barking torque specs to Ghost. Joey is hunched over the paint booth, his hands steady but his face pale with concentration.

And me? I'm everywhere.

Organizing, grabbing parts, double-checking measurements, adjusting designs on the fly when something doesn't fit.

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