Page 51 of Knot So Lucky
"Everything good with tech?" I ask, pitching my voice to carry through the comm system.
"Affirmative," Marco's voice crackles back. "All systems reading nominal. We've got full telemetry."
"Diagnostic feed is live," Jenna adds. "We'll see everything you're experiencing in real-time."
"Good."
Dante's voice cuts through the channel, dripping with condescension.
"Try not to crash into anything, tech boy. These prototypes cost more than your annual salary."
I don't bother responding verbally.
Instead, I let my foot press the accelerator.
The engine roars to life—a glorious, violent symphony of combustion and mechanical precision that sends vibrations through the entire chassis and straight into my bones. The sound is visceral in a way that virtual racing could never capture, pure and raw and absolutely intoxicating.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel.
My eyes focus on the track ahead, already calculating racing lines and braking points and the thousand micro-decisions that separate decent drivers from exceptional ones.
Dante makes another comment through the speaker—something about amateurs and knowing my place—but I just roll my eyes, allowing the engine to roar louder in response.
Then I shift to drive and press the gas pedal.
CHAPTER 9
Collision Course To Destiny
~AURORA~
The acceleration is immediate and violent.
The prototype lurches forward like a predator released from a cage, engine screaming at frequencies that vibrate through my chest and into my bones. The world narrows to the track ahead—asphalt and barriers and the precise calculations of speed versus grip versus the razor-thin margin between control and catastrophic failure.
My hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel, feeling every micro-adjustment through the feedback system.
The car responds with precision that borders on telepathic, reading my intentions through subtle weight shifts and steering inputs that I'm executing on pure instinct.
Dante's prototype pulls alongside me as we accelerate down the straightaway. Through my peripheral vision, I can see his car matching my speed, the aerodynamics creating turbulent air between our vehicles that makes both machines slightly unstable.
Then Cale's car rushes past in a blur of motion and sound, his superior driving experience evident in the way he carries more speed through the previous corner. The wake of air his passage creates buffets my car, and I have to make quick corrections to maintain my line.
"Fuck, Hart's fast," someone mutters through the comm channel.
"That's why he's got three championship titles," another voice responds.
I ease off the throttle slightly as we approach the first technical section—a series of tight corners that require finesse rather than raw speed. The car responds beautifully to my inputs, and I can feel the suspension working beneath me, absorbing the track imperfections and maintaining tire contact.
But something's off.
There's a slight vibration coming through the brake pedal that shouldn't be there. Not dangerous yet, but noticeable enough that my technical knowledge immediately starts cataloging possibilities.
I initiate a controlled spin—deliberately unsettling the car's balance to test the limits of grip and response. The rear end steps out predictably, and I catch it with a quick counter-steer that brings the nose back in line.
But the brake feel is wrong. There's a moment of sponginess before the pressure builds, like air in the hydraulic lines or?—
"Confirming there's something wrong with the brake system," I say into the comm, keeping my voice steady and professional despite the adrenaline flooding my system. "Feels like the master cylinder's not building pressure consistently. Might be a caliper issue, but we'd need to get the model on the lift to confirm."
