Page 84 of Knot So Lucky
"Hurry up and finalize that other model. We need backup options."
"On it!" they chorus, diving back into their work with renewed urgency.
Jenna steps closer, lowering her voice to a pitch that won't carry over the ambient noise of the garage.
"There are two problems."
The way she says it—quiet and serious despite the chaos around us—makes my stomach drop.
"Your brother isn't feeling too hot right now."
I frown immediately, concern overriding every other consideration.
"Where is he?"
"In his stationed room," Jenna answers, and there's worry written in the lines around her eyes. "But Rory... I think he might have been drugged."
The bottom falls out of my world.
"What?" The word comes out sharper than intended, my voice pitching up slightly before I force it back down. "Why do you say that?"
Jenna glances around, making sure no one else is paying attention to our conversation before continuing.
"He had an afternoon press with Dante. Standard pre-qualifier media circus. They did that thing where rival drivers toast to 'healthy competition' on camera." Her lip curls withdisgust. "Cheers, shot of expensive liquor, whole performative camaraderie bullshit."
My hands are clenching into fists, nails digging into my palms hard enough to sting.
"He's been sick ever since," Jenna continues quietly. "But trying to play it on the down low. Won't admit there's a problem, keeps insisting he's fine. But I've seen food poisoning, and I've seen hangovers, and this isn't either of those."
The implications make rage simmer low in my gut.
Dante drugged my brother.
Dante drugged my brother.
Poisoned him before a qualifier race that could determine our team's entire future, all because... what? Revenge for being beaten by a "tech" during testing?
Petty vindictiveness that he got called out for his bullshit?
I take a slow breath, forcing my Alpha-mimicking aggression back down before it becomes noticeable. Can't afford to lose control now, not when people are watching and my careful persona is all that stands between me and exposure.
"You want me to race," I say slowly, connecting the dots.
It's not a question.
It's the only logical conclusion given everything Jenna's told me.
She nods once, sharp and definitive.
"You defeated Dante with ease before that freak accident. And that move you pulled, the sharp turn that saved that Alpha and the kitten?" Her eyes are intense, searching mine. "That was the exact same technique used in the online qualifier race. Which was you, wasn't it?"
I don't confirm or deny.
Can't confirm or deny without admitting to competing in a race under false pretenses, which opens up a whole different can of worms.
But my silence is apparently answer enough for Jenna.
"What's the second problem?" I ask instead, deflecting from the accusation with practiced ease.
