Page 154 of Knot So Lucky
I tune them out, focusing on the food Adrian brought and the comfortable conversation with him and Elias. The pack dynamics are still settling, rough edges being smoothed through proximity and shared purpose.
But we're getting there.
The facility doors burst open with enough force to make several people jump, and Richard Pemberton storms in with the particular energy of a man who has reached the absolute limit of his patience.
"HART! THORNE!" His voice carries across the entire training floor, sharp with authority. "Unless you two want me to bench youbothfor the entry races, you will cease this pissing contestimmediately!"
Both Alphas freeze mid-argument, expressions shifting from combative to guilty so fast it would be funny if Richard wasn't radiating genuine anger.
"My office," Richard continues, voice dropping into something dangerous. "Now. And bring your professional attitudes with you, or I swear to god I will make you regret wasting my time with your territorial bullshit."
Cale and Luca exchange glances—some wordless communication passing between them—before followingRichard toward the administrative section of the compound like students being sent to the principal's office.
I watch them go, fighting the urge to laugh at how quickly they deflated under Richard's authority.
"Well," Adrian comments mildly, "that was inevitable."
"Honestly surprised it took this long," Elias agrees. "Pack Alphas establishing hierarchy usually gets messy before it stabilizes."
I finish the last bite of chicken, setting the empty plate aside with satisfaction.
"Think Richard will actually bench them?"
"Nah." Adrian shakes his head. "He needs them both for the competition. But he'll make them squirm for a while, maybe assign some humiliating teamwork exercises."
The mental image of Cale and Luca being forced to do trust falls or some corporate team-building nonsense makes me grin.
"Come on," Elias says, offering me his hand to help me up from where I've been sitting. "Let's get those cars prepped before the physical drills start. I want to run full diagnostics on the telemetry systems—something felt off during yesterday's test runs."
I take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. His skin is warm against mine, and the brief contact sends pleasant tingles through my nervous system that have nothing to do with static electricity and everything to do with pack bonds.
We head toward the garage section of the compound, Adrian trailing behind while checking something on his phone.
The Thorne Racing garage is a temple to automotive excellence.
Three state-of-the-art prototypes sit on lifts, each one a masterpiece of engineering and design. The walls are lined with tool chests and diagnostic equipment that makes my heart rate pick up with genuine excitement.
This is where the real work happens. Where theory becomes practice and ideas become championship-winning machines.
I grab my toolkit—the same battered case I've carried for years, familiar weight grounding me—and approach the nearest prototype with Elias beside me.
"I'll start with the suspension calibration," I say, already dropping to my knees to access the undercarriage. "You run the electrical diagnostics?"
"On it." Elias moves to the computer station with practiced efficiency, fingers flying across the keyboard.
We fall into a comfortable rhythm, working in parallel with the kind of coordination that usually takes months or years to develop. But somehow, with Elias, it feels natural. Like we've been doing this together forever instead of just days.
The physical drills start exactly on time—Richard's notorious about punctuality—and the entire team assembles in the training facility's main floor.
Cale and Luca rejoin us looking appropriately chastised, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in what I recognize as enforced cooperation. Whatever lecture Richard delivered must have been effective, because they're not glaring at each other anymore.
Progress.
The drills are brutal.
Cardiovascular conditioning, strength training, reaction time exercises designed to simulate the physical demands of professional racing. By the time we transition to simulator runs, I'm sweating through my jumpsuit and my muscles are screaming.
But the work is satisfying.
