(ty for reading! you are very appreciated, and i luv you very much, and the star is as happy to see you as i am ! we near the final 1/5 of this book, which is exciting, so thank you for sticking around and please enjoy)

All right. Grab a Lucky Strike and a lighter.

I'm only gonna through this part once.

Mercy had yet to return my calls or texts about why my computer had suddenly decided I was the demon-come-to-smite-it, leaving me with no information on nothing and no one except for my own stupid head. It also left me out of contact with D and the rest of the Bengals though, so, I suppose you win some, you lose some.

The second week of September ended like a sandstorm, as fast as it was hazy as it was uncontrolled. The press was having an utter field day with Red and Zoe and Wynter's newly-earned Class I status. Coach had gotten so many calls within the weeks that she had taken a day's trip to the mountains for the sake of losing service.

"That high up though?" Zahir had asked.

"Nowhere is ever high enough from the press," Coach muttered. "Call Ramos if you need something. Don't get yourselves killed."

It would take a village for that.

Everyone had a heart attack for Kane's hair upon leaving Washington. A rainstorm was coming for us, hot on our tails, the air misty with its promise. Diego shrieked.

"Look at that hair, like a true cuervo! Are you the new mascot?" he said, and cackled.

Rosalie frowned. "Where did you even get the dye for this?"

Kane glanced at me, but said, "I got it before we came. It's just so people don't ask. I can't do anything about anything else."

"Hey, man, it looks good," Zahir assured. "Diego's right. Our true mascot."

Meredith grinned. "Do you like it?"

Kane took a long, long minute to think. He shrugged. His smile was thin, falling apart at the fibers. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I like it."

My stomach twisted into unbreakable knots.

Meredith had made her best attempt at maintaining our nightly dinners, even going as far as to cook up a storm in the girls' dorm with the help of Diego to make it a piece of cake, the two buying groceries in bulk and stealing spices from our cabinets, trying every cuisine from Indian to Mexican to Japanese to Irish.

"Potato," Wynter said with a confident nod as Meredith attempted to jot down ideas for that day's dinner.

"Potato and?" she said.

"Potato, and..." She pointed to Zoe.

Zoe smiled. "Potato," she replied.

Meredith buried her face in her hands. "Potato gratin, anyone?"

Diego frowned. "That sounds like a slur."

"Thank you for that input, Diego."

The first semester of my second year had begun, although Mercy had neglected to block me into a substantial schedule, all circumstances considered. It left me just scraping by with twelve units, one of which was a rhetoric class that required less than a brain cell in paying attention to, which parted the seas of work to give way for far more free time than I was comfortable having.

"So little credits!" Zoe said to me in said class one day, frowning. "What are you gonna do with all that free time?"

I let my head rest back against the seat. The glaring fluorescent lights faded right through me. The mindless lecture dissipated at my ears. Nothing could even think to occupy my mind but Red, Kane, Elias, and my father. Nothing but race tracks and bloodbaths flowed from my hands.

I tapped my useless pencil against the desk. "That," I admitted sadly, "is a damn good question."

Practices had been spaced into every other day per Coach's orders, at least the ones that Kane attended. I took it upon myself to go every day, most days not even with a bike. Maybe just to soak up the details while I still could. Maybe just to pretend for a little longer.

Meredith's dinners, although delicious and very gracious, forewent Kane's attendance more and more. By the end of the week, she stopped putting food into a plate and began putting it into a plastic container to give him later instead.

"I feel sick from it sometimes," she had admitted to me once, my hands mid-way through scrubbing potato gratin off a plate, the smell of dish soap and sink water pungent in the empty air. "All the uncertainty, that is. Not knowing this, not knowing that. Not knowing if he'll be okay. Corvus feels different from it, that uncertainty. I sort of hate it."

I nodded. "I get that."

Meredith pursed her lips. "Does he talk to you?"

I scrubbed the last of the gratin off. "Not about that," I said. "But it's scary."

"What is?"

I shrugged. "Asking questions," I replied. "Never having an answer."

Meredith leaned her head against mine. We remained like that for a long, long moment. She took the plate from my hand to dry it with her damp dishrag.

"Your birthday is soon, isn't it?" she said, and I stiffened. "Let's celebrate when the time comes."

I didn't have the heart to deny her. "All right."

I frequented Kane only at night, leaving him be during the day. I seldom saw him anyway, as he had his own coursework to attend to, too. The weather had sprung back into active heat, leaving the whole dorm humid and sticky with the incoming sun. Afternoon left everyone scrambling for air conditioner at the mall or Nancy's. Some part of me wondered if Corvus wanted to leave, or just wanted Kane to come.

"He was sleeping when I went in," Zahir said with a sigh. He shut the car door in his wake. "Guess it's just us."

"He didn't eat what was in the fridge again," Rosalie muttered, shaking the container. "This is high-quality marinara. What's a girl gotta do? He needs to eat. I know I shouldn't force him, but who's gonna? Jesus Christ."

"He's probably depressed," Kenzo said plainly, brushing past me in the thickest part of noon heat when I asked. "Or overheated. Dunno. I'd be."

"Sun called?" Diego said with a frown. "Like, his cousin. Said she tried calling him but he won't pick up. Has anyone even seen the kid at this rate?"

"Kane is dying," Ramos said, face and front. A spear down my throat, breaking up the tendons and my solar plexus. "Even if he won't admit it. Time is non-negotiable, Echo. He knows this. Sometimes, it's worse to know."

It was a night before Red that she decided to resort to dire solutions.

She had begun visiting us regularly for Kane's sake, bringing her medical bag and examination tools, which was sort of similar to bringing a pet to the vet. Only everyone else but Kane was the pet. Which was all fine and dandy until she pulled out a bottle.

Rosalie shot to her feet. "You're giving him Valatro?" Rosalie cried. "Ramos. Are you out of your mind?"

"It's a far safer form of it," she replied calmly, taking out a needle from her bag. She frowned at the team surrounding her. "And this is not a public examination. You all may leave."

"No," they said.

Kane turned his head up from his place on the carpet. "Go. All of your guys' squawking is making my head hurt."

"That's the poison," Kenzo said.

"Kenzo," Meredith hissed.

"What the fuck, man," Zahir snapped. He sighed, rubbing at his temples. "I'd rather we just forfeit Red altogether. Those aren't joke drugs. I trust you, Ramos, but that drug..."

"It's a diluted form," I said from my perch on Kane's bed. "It's only enough to ease sharp pain."

"You're agreeing with this?" Zoe said.

"It's not my life," I replied.

Kane said, "Everyone, get out."

They got out. I said, "Kane."

Kane turned his eyes away from me. "Just go, Echo."

I went.

I lied upside down from my bed. I watched my closet, the empty turquoise box on my desk, the ring around my finger, the sickly moonlight on my white floors. My floor. My room. Mine, mine, mine. Sometimes it's worse to know. And sometimes it's fucking Hell.

I sat up. I headed for the bathroom.

I knocked, then pushed open the door. Kane was lying in the tub, his face distant, his body beaded with hot water. He didn't lift his head, but did say, "Agmong?"

Well, if my life counted as one. I said, "Why are you awake?"

Kane shrugged. "Too hot to sleep," he murmured. His voice was cropped at the edges. "Why are you awake?"

"Too..." I waved that away. "I just wanted to see if you were alive."

Kane didn't laugh. "I'm alive."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

"Does anything hurt? I can call Ramos."

"I'm all right. I can call her myself." He turned his head towards me. No new silver had broken through his hair, but there was a new thread peeping out from his sleeve onto his hand, and a new vein in his eye that was darker than was normal. "The medicine helps, though."

I nodded. "That's good." I sat on the edge of his tub. He pushed himself upright with his good arm. Patches and tape covered his shoulder, his back, all the way down to his forearm. "How's your shoulder?"

Kane pushed his hair back. His body looked weaker with less weight, the veins bluer, the shadows darker, spaces more hollow. Before, the poison looked like it'd been the secret. Looking at him now, it felt more like January had taken that place instead. Stones sunk into my lungs, my intestines, clogging the valves of my heart and clamping my capillaries shut with an iron fist.

I reached up. I let my thumb glide over his brow, the pad of it resting on the mole there. He reached up tentatively. His fingers closed around my wrist and dragged my palm over his cheek, his nose, until he could turn his mouth into the flexors.

"You feel warm," I murmured.

"It's warm," he argued.

The air was humid, thick with the froth of a hot water bath. Kane tugged at my wrist, his fingers scraping at the skin under my arm. He said, "Come in."

I waved him off. "You wish. You need help?"

"No." He tugged harder. "Come here."

"Yeah, no." I tugged my arm back. "Good efforts, though. You've been in here for a while, you should get out soon."

Kane gave a huff at that. He leaned his head back against the white rim, water sloshing over his bare body, over the inky lightning splashing into his skin. "No," he said. 

"Hey, it's your pruny skin," I said. "You missed dinner today."

Kane paused. "I did."

"Did you eat something else?"

He shrugged. "Wasn't hungry."

"You should eat."

"I do." Kane lifted his head. "It's all right. Don't worry about it."

"I don't like that," I said. "If you don't want to leave your room, I can—"

He waved me off. "Let's not talk." He sighed. "Makes me tired."

"You? Tired of talking?" I scoffed. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"You're seeing it." 

"You're tired," I said, but I didn't mean the talking.

Kane seemed to understand that. He paused, then nodded. "I am," he murmured. "Sleep is hard to come by sometimes. I'm not used to sleeping on my stomach." He grimaced. "You don't come in anymore."

I shrugged. "I figure you need your sleep. I didn't want to disturb."

"You don't," he said. "It's quiet without you."

"That's good."

"Then," he murmured, back-tracking. "It's...empty."

I swished my fingers through the water. "I can come in, if it helps," I said. "I just figured you liked it better alone."

"Guess I've gotten used to you or something." Kane's lip quirked when he said it. He grasped both my hands, splashed my shirt with water. "You still need to wash up, right?"

"You're not feeling well." I pushed his face back with my palm. "Don't even think about that."

"About what?"

"You're not thinking straight." I held up my hand. "Stay where you are."

Kane rested his chin on my leg, soaking my cotton shorts. He let his fingers glide over my arm, right below my radius. Warm droplets ran down my skin. I thought of the seaside in Korea, the ocean whistling there, the salt on my tongue. Kane said, "Just for a little while."

It's his life or yours.

Always playing lives, playing survivors, making bets I'd never win and betting wins I'd never see. 

You need to make sure it's yours.

I willed it away and breathed. "All right."

When I settled into the hot water, Kane wrapped his arms around my body, the heat infesting my skin, the bubbles of warmth popping against my veins. He leaned down, grazed his mouth over my trapezius. He said, "I missed you."

A fist tore my heart in two.

I leaned my head back to rest on his shoulder. His hands pressed on my stomach, my hips, the space between my legs. I raked my fingers through his black hair. Everything hurt terribly.

"Why?" I murmured against his lips, spoken between a stinging gasp when his fingers pushed in. "I'm right here."

I let the steam settle, and dissolve me into nothing.

_________________

We were to leave for Boston, Massachusetts at the bright and early hour of eight AM. Complaints were made. But arrival was achieved. Albeit, Coach looked ready to hike her ass right back up the isolationist mountains.

The Valatro Ramos had supplied Kane with seemed to be the temporary magic trick, since he was far more himself by the time we arrived at LAX, the color back in his face and the straightness back in his posture. His shoulder was still in less-than-optimal shape, but he promised he would manage given the first half.

"If you can't," Coach had began, but Kane shook his head.

"I can," he said. "I promise."

"The king returns," Diego said with a happy cackle. "Let's obliterate these perros. BU? More like BS. Aha!"

"I'm about to muzzle you," Rosalie said. She turned on the rest of us. "All right, people. It's Boston. Fuck Red Diamond, we're here for something far more important."

"The labor protest for fairer wages of the working class in this steadily collapsing economy and exponentially growing wage gap that will leave the middle class essentially extinct and poverty a common occurrence for those below the six-digit income range?" Meredith said with a raise of her hand.

Kane perked up. "Are we?"

I looked between them. "The irony," I drawled.

"No," Rosalie said, frowning. "The Boston cream pie."

Diego gasped, covering Zoe and Wynter's ears. "There are children here, Rosie."

"Not that kind of—never mind. The dessert, I mean. The kind you eat. The—Diego, stop looking at me like that."

"The children," he whispered.

"The actual flour-and-sugar pie, thank you." She glowered at Diego. "This is our mission. This is your top priority for the day and a half we are there."

Zahir raised his hand. "This sounds like a very strange priority, all things considered."

"Did I ask? I don't remember asking. I don't remember saying this is a free comment conference. These are orders, not suggestions."

"You're a natural-born dictator, Rosie."

"King." Rosalie gestured at him. "Back me up here."

Kane looked up from his phone, which he'd been intently staring down for the past five minutes. He shut it off, shoving it in his back pocket. He considered them.

"I," he began ceremoniously, "don't care."

Rosalie whirled on them. "That's a Kane King yes."

"That's a Kane King 'I don't care'," Wynter snorted.

"He cares a little."

"I don't," Kane said with a nod. "I don't even kind of care."

"You care somewhat."

"I don't care so much that if I were to tell you a distance of which my not-caring could span, it wouldn't even breach a nanometer."

"Damn," I muttered.

"Do you all ever have normal conversations?" Coach snapped from beside us. "Has anyone asked anyone how the weather is?"

Zoe turned to Kenzo. "How's the weather?"

Kenzo didn't look at her. "No."

"Sit on a goddamn cactus, Kenzo," Rosalie said.

"How's the weather?" Zoe asked Zahir.

"Wait, like, in Celsius?"

"How the hell did you even get there?" Wynter asked.

Zoe smiled at Kane. "How's the weather?"

"I'm half-blind," he said plainly. "I should be asking you."

"Ableist," Kenzo commented.

"Wow," I said.

"You all make me lose hope in everything all the time every day," Coach snapped. She pointed at the gate. "Get the hell in. Faster we get there, faster we win Red, and faster—"

"I get my Boston cream pie," Rosalie agreed, and fled for the gate.

"Don't we all want a Boston cream pie every now and then?" Diego told us, and Zahir buried his face in his hands.

"Diego, stop fucking talking," Rosalie yelled.

Whatever the pie implicated between the two of them was beyond me and below my priorities, so I abandoned listening in more altogether and turned on Kane instead. "Are we flying coach again?"

Kane nodded dutifully. He walked away, his sparkling blue slides glittering in his wake. "I traded with Zoe for an aisle seat so we're sitting together. Come on."

When I sat beside Kane, he pulled out a bag of gummy bears and plopped them between us. I gaped down at them. I said, "Thank fuck and thank you."

Kane's lips quirked into something like a smile. It wasn't until I saw it, that I realized how long it'd been since it'd seen me. I relished it, like the sun peeking out in the midst of oncoming autumn.

He tossed them into my lap. "Don't thank me," he said.

Boston was red-brick world, a Victorian minimalist, and an England alternative. Putting it succinctly.

We had two hours before we were due to the stadium for the match, leaving Rosalie dragging our asses across every available cobble road and fresh-brick path to find her precious pie. Meredith tried her best to come to her defense, saying something or other about it being a good experience to "see the city more", but Rosalie, when she wanted something, was quite difficult to defend.

"Get the fuck out of that candy shop, Yun," she snapped. "We've got a mission."

"You have a mission," I replied. "I've got airplane peanuts and an appetite. Now let me at it."

Kane dragged me back forward by my collar. "Nice try," he said. "We'll get dinner up ahead."

"That's ten blocks."

"It's three."

"I round up."

"How does that—"

"Focus," Rosalie snapped behind us. "This is about my pie, people."

"I'd like to focus on my pie too, but you don't see me getting everyone else involved in it," Diego said.

"What pie?" Zoe asked quizzically.

Wynter patted her back. "Let's just get through the day."

Rosalie pointed at a bakery below the sidewalk, stairs leading down below into a tavern-turned bakery, a swinging wood sign reading off LIZ'S CAFE in swirling black font. She shoved past us all to run for it. "Let's go."

"Your pie is in a dungeon?" I said.

"Shut the fuck up, Yun," she hissed, pushing me forward.

September in Boston was far different than September in California, autumn setting in much more comfortably and much more obviously. The leaves had fully faded from life, amber like the sunset and scarlet with anthocyanins. The sky was pungent with gray smoke, damp with anticipated rain, heavy with fall. Even the grout between the cobble was still wet with morning dew by evening. Lamps glowed like warm candles inviting stray travelers to take refuge in their light, away from the cruel, blue shadows.

I breathed in the earth-filled air. "Have you all been to Boston before?"

Kane shook his head, his eyes watching the golden windows of the underground bakery. "No," he admitted. "Kenzo's gone a few times, but I've never. It's pretty, though."

"Is there anywhere you want to go?" I said. "Just to see it in person?"

Kane quirked a grin. "Whichever one of these places can deliver on this damn pie, probably."

I laughed. Rosalie sent us a look. I kept laughing anyway.

She scrambled for the front counter upon entering. She waved down a worker, and pointed at the cases and cases of pastries and cakes. "You all got a Boston cream pie in here?"

The pixie blinked, then smiled politely. "We are all out, actually. Sorry!"

Zahir sighed and said, "Next stop?"

"Don't encourage," Kenzo murmured.

"Do encourage," Rosalie replied, and spun on her heel. "Onward, crows."

Maia's Pie Shop.

"The best one you've got," Rosalie demanded. "The best Boston cream pie you have in store."

The bloodsucker raised an unimpressed brow. "No more. All out."

"What."

"Oh, well, we tried," Wynter said. "Can we look around now?"

"No," Rosalie said. "Next stop."

"We could be practicing with all this extra time," Kane snapped. "What's with you and this pie? I bet we have dozens in LA anyway."

"That's LA cream pie, King. I need it from Boston. Or it's not real."

"You eat french fries in America, are those not real?" Wynter countered. "Why not go to France?"

"French fries are products of impoverished Belgium villagers who ate small fried fish in Meuse Valley and had to resort to potatoes in order to not starve during winter," Kane said.

"Dude," I said.

"That's King's one useless history fact for the day," Rosalie said. "Now let's go."

We let out a united groan, and followed in her trail. Boston dimmed to a waning hour, the second round of Red headed straight for us with arms outstretched. 

Kane had lagged behind the group, his steps careful and eyes focused what with the lack of light. He frowned at the cobble in front of him, and narrowly missed a man in a rush weaving through the crowds. Kane sighed.

I pursed my lips. I headed over to him, and took his arm around mine. Kane startled a little. He said, "What—"

"It's so fucking cold my right kidney is about to freeze off," I said, dragging us both forward. "Come on. Before Rosalie starts whining again."

Kane said nothing in response. He tightened his grip around my arm, like a rope to an anchor.

I pulled us through the shadows.

Mrs. Yang's Coffee and Tea.

Rosalie blew hot air into her hands and scrubbed them together. She zipped up her Moncler and gestured at the glass case of cake slices to the clearly-tired bloodsucker attempting—but not really—to help her.

"A Boston cream pie. Looks like a circle. Has chocolate over it. It's got cream in it. You know?"

The vampire gave her a deadpan look. "No," he said.

"All right, we try again. Ahem. Think with me. Circle. Cake. Cream. Chocolate. Yes?"

"Ma'am, I know what a Boston cream pie is," he snapped, holding up a hand. "I'm telling you we don't have it. We have a cream cake and a cocoa cake."

"What kind of Boston bakery is this?" she retorted indignantly.

"A Chinese one."

Rosalie paused. She looked back at the sign, then huffed. "That does track."

Kane snagged her by the collar. "Come on, let's go. Before you start sounding racist."

She gaped at that, but let Kane drag her out nonetheless. Rosalie wilted outside of the bakery, crossing her arms as she sighed into the windy air. Diego and Zoe emerged after her, three sweet cream buns in their hands, one already halfway finished.

I raised a brow. Zoe shrugged. "I thought we'd need a re-fuel from all our running around."

"This city is scared of good cream pie," Diego said with a shrug. "We figured this is the next best thing." He handed one to Rosalie. "Maybe if you dip it in chocolate, it'll be the same."

"It is not, take that away from me," she snapped, then sighed. "I'll never find this pie."

Zoe and Meredith patted her shoulders in some form of consolation. I drummed my fingers against Kane's arm, which was still wound around mine. I glanced around the shadowed cobble streets.

I frowned. "Hey," I said, pointing down the street. "What about that one?"

We looked up. A tall white building, its awnings blue and windows wide and lights a flickering, daisy yellow, stood proudly in the night. A sun and cloud framed a big, blue CLOUD BAKERY.

Rosalie glanced at me, then it, then said, "All right. Last stop!"

"Ah, Boston cream pie," a man said with a nod.

"Yes," we gasped.

Rosalie held her hands up to him. "Please tell me you have one."

He hummed. "Of course."

"God is real," she said to us.

"I'll say," Kane murmured. He handed a few bills to the man and said, "Can we have two to go?"

The man smiled brightly. "Coming right up."

We took the two pies in their small blue boxes and headed outside. Rosalie unearthed the first one and breathed it in deep. She took a bite.

We all leaned in.

"So?" Zoe said. "How is it?"

Rosalie chewed it thoughtfully, carefully, like a connoisseur. After several moments, she opened her eyes. "It tastes," she said, "sort of good."

"Sort of good?" Wynter exclaimed. "We walked five miles for you to say it's 'sort of good'?"

"It's not bad."

"That's somehow worse."

"I don't really like cream things."

"It's called a Boston cream pie."

"I thought it'd be more Boston than cream."

"Wow," I said.

Diego snagged the pie from her. "Give me that." He took a bite, then glared at Rosalie. "You disgrace Boston."

Rosalie shrugged. "Well, my mission is complete. What's next?"

"What else, Rosie?" He handed the rest to Zoe and Wynter, who lit up. "Red Diamond."

We all smiled at that. Kane gave a small grin. He held up the pie.

"Then, we'll eat this after to celebrate when we win, yeah?"

We cheered high and loud enough for the Terriers to hear.

___________________

The Boston University Terriers were some fucking rank with some fucking stats with some fucking accolades. That's not what's important here. Let's talk about their defense.

Their three defense racers were Class I Drachmann Alpha upperclassmen with heights breaching six foot and weights breaching 150 imperial pounds. Their center tail had come to America all the way from Japan after having beat every viable racer there just to post more heads in front of their million-dollar mansion somewhere in the uptown hills of the east coast's best estates. Their starboard and port tail were siblings, a year apart, the younger brother having been bred on street racing and its consequential bloody nature, the older sister a combination of traditional and dirty, the rules more a suggestion to her rather than an outline.

We stood above on the canopy, watching them as they stretched and chattered away to their centerback captain, Aranjiyan. They were difficult to miss in the crowd, their bodies taking up twice the space I could imagine myself occupying, their faces cut straight from cold granite and old bone. I shivered. I glanced at Kane.

"Are you sure you wanna race this one?" I said. "You sure you'll survive, that is?"

Kane gave me a look at that. He got to his feet, tossing his helmet between his hands, maybe in some show that he was still perfectly capable of doing so. "The Terriers are not news to us," he said. "They're a piece of work, but they're not news."

"News or not, they're still fucking terrifying," I said. "How's your shoulder?"

"Fine since the last time you asked two minutes ago," he said, raising a brow. He leaned over the railing. "I'll pull out if I have to, okay?"

"Will you?" I rested my elbows beside him. "Last time we trusted you with your own health, you sort of shafted yourself."

"I'm not a child," he sighed. "The medicine is good enough to hold me over until the end of the match."

"With all that brute force?"

"I've raced through worse."

"Liar."

Kane turned his head to me. He said, "Let's just win this round, yeah?"

I pushed myself away from the railing. "Hey, man," I called with a salute. "You're the captain."

I let my hand brush his for a blink of an eye, and turned back around to face Corvus.

Coach stood at the head of us, her tablet out in front, her face taut with thought. "All right, listen here," she said. "First half, I want Gossard and Watanabe helping out the fronts. This defense is vicious and we're gonna need all the help we can get. Davenport, you're gonna help out Russo and Cruz in keeping the fronts from scoring any of those point combos. There's a tunnel series here, which we don't encounter often, so rookies, be careful when you get to that. King, Gupta, I want you to focus on combo moves and combo moves only. If a point's not worth it, then forget it, just get them in bombs. And King, for the love of all that is holy, watch that goddamn shoulder." She gestured at all of us. "We got that?"

"Got it," we said.

"Racers, one minute to start!"

"Now get your asses out there and obliterate those bastards," Coach said with a thundering clap.

Wynter and I bid Zoe a fierce goodbye as she fastened her neck guard. "Class I, full match," Wynter said. "You think you can do it?"

Zoe waved her off. "I'm no amateur anymore. Have faith!" She pulled on her helmet and tightened the buckles and straps. She popped up her face shield and gave us a thumbs-up. "Let's cream these bastards like corn."

"Whatever that means," I said and patted her shoulder.

"All right, square racing fans!" Nathan said. Was there no other announcer available in the NCAA? "Welcome to the second round of the long-anticipated Red Diamond of this year! We've got the reigning champions from California, Corvus, up here, far from home to face your very own BU Terriers!"

The crowd roared with excitement. The ground rumbled under my feet with seismic waves of applause.

"As a reminder to all our racers, this is a good and fair match. All shots, strikes, or maneuvers are permitted except for head shots, equipment tampering of any kind, blocking any racer horizontally, or using gear or bikes as projectiles. You must stay within the white fencing at all times, and any breach of the fencing will end the lap as a lap foul. No drugs, alcohol, or any unauthorized substances are allowed on the track, along with weapons or tools of any kind. If you're found with any of these during the match, you and your team will be immediately disqualified," he recited. "Now, who's ready to race?"

Wynter sidled up beside me. "Excited?" she asked.

The pop and hiss of engines turning on one by one along with the distinct screech of revving accelerators cranked the crowd's volume up by a thousand decibels. I watched Kane flex his gloved hands, roll his shoulder. I watched Corvus watch each other. And I watched the Terriers watch them.

"Terrified," I replied.

"On your mark!

"Get set!

"Go!"

Zoom out. Speed up. Let's run by this quickly.

Ten minutes.

"And that's the first harsh combo from the Hurleys this match. This dynamic duo is not holding back tonight!" 

"Fuck me sideways," Rosalie cursed, her voice pained as she clumsily slid around a pole series. "That was a clear head shot!"

"It's racing, don't tell me you thought the refs would care," Coach said. "How's your rib?"

"Fine," she spat. "Where the hell did Jia go?"

"Heading for King," Kenzo said, his bike already swiveling around to gun straight for her blazing red bike as it zipped beneath a low hanger. "Zahir. Left. T."

Zahir yanked his bike off the ramp and went sailing downwards without a second of hesitation. Kenzo yanked the nose of his bike up, sparks singing from where the metal of his bike's tail skidded against the concrete. Jia turned around a second too late, and his front while smashed straight down into her back one.

Zahir's front wheel crashed into the side of her bike, a section of the metal shredding on impact. He skidded right upon hitting stone as she went teetering left to right. He pressed up against her, shoving her towards the wall.

"Let's go, Z!" Wynter cheered.

Jia gritted her teeth. She lifted her fist and swung clear for his face. Zahir ducked, but caught the metal knuckles in his ribs instead. He crumbled with a shout. Jia switched gears, the wall coming for her all too fast. She sunk her gloved fingers around the stray shrapnel of her bike, and yanked. 

They split off like tearing paper. She swung her leg and planted her cleats into the nose of Kenzo's bike, then sunk the shrapnel straight into the gears of Zahir's back wheel.

He braked violently, so much so that smoke trailed behind him as he subsequently took the fall against the nearby wall. Kenzo jammed his fist into Jia's stomach to send her topping back onto her still-speeding bike. She dropped the shrapnel, and Kenzo took the chance to unlodge their bikes altogether, backing up. In a last attempt at cutting her down, he swung his bike nose-first and perpendicular. It struck her bike like a wrecking ball. She went toppling, tumbling, and down. 

"A vicious move from Watanabe and a checkered foul for Jia Hurley! Corvus to circle back and receive a head start, only within the first ten minutes! This is looking to be a cutthroat game indeed!" Nathan announced.

A buzzer blared. Zahir headed for the pit, letting the crew wheel his bike away and attempt to ratify the reckless damage done. 

"How's it looking?" Coach asked.

"She screwed up a few wires but nothing connected to the battery or the brakes," he said. "I don't know about the transmission, though."

Coach muttered a curse. "They ought to give her more than a foul for that."

The crew shook their heads at Zahir. One of them wheeled the bike away. 

"That fucking bitch," Rosalie snapped. 

"We have a spare, but it's not as good of a model," Coach said. "Do with it what you have to, try to steer clear of getting caught between walls. Watanabe, you upright?"

"I am," he said. "Points?"

"Ten ahead," I said. "How many minutes left?"

"Too many," Wynter muttered.

I hung my head.

Twenty minutes.

"Corvus trails by two," Nathan recounted. "Davenport seems to be struggling to keep up with Mars at the tunnel series."

A tunnel series was fairly uncommon in smaller stadiums considering the amount of area it took up. It consisted of a tunnel with several steel union fittings and several other narrow adjoining tubes. The combination of the bumpy road made by the ridges and the fairly narrow openings with no light but your own headlights made for it to be a very tricky obstacle to get through.

"He's moving too fast," Zoe grunted as she sped through another tube. "My back wheel keeps getting caught in the edges, I can't keep up."

"Let him catch up," Kane ordered. "He's trying to lose defense in those tunnels, don't stray too far from your lines, you'll be vulnerable." He slowed his speed, leaving Jia fast-coming on his tail. "Rosalie, do a roundabout, get Jia and Leo somewhere that isn't here. Zahir and I will do something about Mars."

"What about Grace? He's already gaining on you," Rosalie said.

"I'll deal with the fronts," he promised. 

The Terriers rolled ahead until the two fronts were side by side with Kane and Zahir, leaving Rosalie and Zoe attempting to circle around the tails like sharks. Kane accelerated forward, toward the logs.

Grace and Mars pushed ahead after him with Zahir in their wake, a perfect line of them formed on the track. Kane swerved around the log piles.

"Shoulder," I said.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered.

Mars snapped his bike up and right for Kane's front wheel. 

Kane slammed on his brakes, shifted gears, and sailed sideways. His metal knuckles sank deep into the concrete and cranked his bike in a perfect half moon to the right. He swept Mars out from under his wheels, swerving so fast even Nathan didn't catch it fast enough to announce it. 

Mars went careening back, scrambling for non-existent balance. Kane slammed his front wheel into the log pile and cranked his bike right. He flipped up, knuckles sinking into the top log, before he was swerving right over the pile altogether. When he landed ahead of a fallen Mars, he did so with the crowd in chaos around him.

"Those gloves are good, but not good enough to keep your damn knuckles from breaking!" Coach snapped. "Be careful!"

"It's Red!" he snapped. "What kind of strategy is that?"

Grace soared after Kane. Zahir was hot on his trail, his TRAX bike singing with all its might in an effort to get him ahead. 

"It seems it's fronts against fronts!" Nathan said, surprised. "Corvus has been pulling out all kinds of unique strategies for this year's Championships, I'm curious to see what this one entails?"

Grace bounced over the logs. Zahir followed. Grace headed up the ramps. Zahir followed. Grace zig-zagged, slowed, accelerated. Zahir followed.

"I'll meet you on the bridge," he said.

Kane headed for the arch.

Grace sped ahead of both of them as he rose over the shallow waters. Kane and Zahir at his tail like a murder of crows ready with talons out. At the zenith, Grace, foolishly, turned around to look.

Zahir crashed the nose of his bike into the back wheel of Grace's, slowing them both with a spark-filled screech. Then, he ducked.

From behind, Kane raced for them like a bullet to a skull.

He punched his wheel into the curb side, and the sheer force of the impact sent him sailing up, up, up, and over the fronts' heads.

When he landed, he skidded a full 360 degrees around to face Grace. He shot the engine at full force.

The crash that crushed Grace's bike could be heard for miles. 

Zahir and him bounded off the bridge, leaving Grace useless and still behind them. Kane didn't even waste a breath on the bare track the moment he was off the bridge. His bike zipped for the pole series, zig-zagging through them without missing a beat. He sank under the low-hangers, and soared through the tunnel, and crested the ramps. In our peripheral, the crowd was a thunderstorm, a tornado, a category five hurricane. 

Zahir laughed high in his throat. "Now that's a fucking sight," he said.

"A powerful comeback from Corvus's offense!" Nathan cried. "Corvus leads now by a whopping twenty points as King clears off this lap, take a look at that, racing fans! Now that is a true racing king, if I've ever seen one. This match is definitely one you don't want to look away from anytime soon!"

When Kane and Zahir zipped past the canopies, we cheered from the depths of our diaphragms as if our lives depended on it.

Halftime.

Ramos was in rush hour.

"You all look terrible, absolutely terrible," she said as she went jogging from one racer to the other, her arms full of ointments, bandages, hot patches, and rags. She dabbed the blood off of Kenzo's split lip before giving up altogether and pushing the tissue right into his face. "Here. Hold it like this. Zahir, let me see your hand. Rosalie, keep that ice pack on your rib. Zoe, stop moving your knee, the ointment will set faster if you're still. Diego! Drop that orange, that was for King!"

Diego slumped. "I need an orange, too."

Meredith took the ice pack from her temple. Despite the bruise on her cheek and the gash over her nose, she was grinning from ear to ear. "We're nearly thirty points ahead, Corvus," she said. "That's amazing for this point in the match."

"And you did it on a second-grade bike," Diego added, patting Zahir on the back of the neck. 

He shook his head. "It's good for this point," he admitted. "But it's the last stretch we should worry about." He glanced at Kane, then at Ramos. "How's he doing?"

Ramos finally had patched them up enough to kneel in front of Kane. He hadn't taken off his gear save for his helmet, having slumped into the bench the second he was at the canopy. She said, "How are you doing?"

Kane said, "Fine." He tilted his head up. He gritted his teeth. "Give me the other shot."

"That was offered to you as a last resort," she said sharply. "I only gave it to you to hold you over for the first half and then see how you do."

"I'm fine. But the last stretch is harder, just give it to me now."

"She said no," Coach snapped. "And so do I. If you're so far as to want the second shot, that's reason enough for me to pull you."

"What?" Kane said. "How's that fair?"

"We already discussed this whole 'fair' thing of yours," she snapped. "You can't have it."

"Then I'll race without it."

"Take 'no'."

"No," Kane pressed. "Just let me race. We're ahead, just let me push it until the halfway mark of this round. Just put me in for as long as I can last."

Kenzo got to his feet. He walked over behind Kane, and reached for his shoulder. He clasped the muscle and squeezed.

Kane buckled so fast Ramos barely had time to drop her things and grab his arms. He bit out a harsh curse, his hand hovering over his shoulder, shaking with the pain but not daring to touch it.

Diego yanked Kenzo back. "What the fuck, man?" he snapped. "What're you doing?"

"You didn't last," Kenzo said plainly, shrugging Diego off. "Shut up. Stop whining. Sit down."

"Fuck you," Kane wheezed.

"Cruel but effective, I guess," Coach said, giving Kenzo a disturbed look. "Ramos, take care of him, we'll move on. Yun, stop standing there like a ghost, put your damn gear on, you're on for King this half."

Kane righted himself with a burning glare at Kenzo and Coach alike. Ramos gave him a sympathetic look, then gestured for him to sit on the bench. Corvus didn't meet his eye.

I grabbed my helmet. 

Coach proceeded to dive into the plan, although it was difficult to focus considering my attention was split between her and Ramos and Kane in the corner. I watched her peel off his glove to reveal his knuckles, the skin split in long gashes, blood dripping off the tips of his fingers in rivulets. A bruise punctured his ribs, concrete burns beading red over his chest and biceps.

When Coach was finished, I sat beside him as the final five minutes of halftime ticked away. I said, "Get some rest."

Kane took the towel away from the slice across his cheek. He didn't look at me, or reply. 

Ramos touched my shoulder. "Head down with Corvus," she murmured.

I chewed the inside of my cheek. 

Meredith stopped in front of me with a sad smile. "Come on," she said. "Let's hurry up and win this, yeah? There's a pie in it for you."

If I smiled back, it wasn't real enough for me to remember.

I headed down. I saw her saying something to Kane, but it was too soft for me to hear. I met Corvus alongside the Terriers on the track.

"Hey, whoa, whoa, what's this?" Jia Hurley said, swinging her leg over her replacement bike, her face shield up for me to see a bandage covering her nose. "Don't you birds know you can't bring your babysitting gigs onto a track? It's dangerous for little kids to be all the way out here."

Rosalie snapped, "Shut up and save it for the match."

"Oh, wait! That's right! This is the Stirling puppy, right?" she sneered. The Terriers snickered at that. "All the racers in the world, and King sends in this? He must be playing a practical joke!"

"She said shut the hell up," Diego hissed. "Don't you have better things to do than talk shit like a teenager?"

"How can I not? I have versed teenagers better than this pipsqueak you call a racer," she said, cackling. Her gaze glinted. "Where is your captain, if I may ask?"

"You may not," Zoe said.

"Oh? Why? Don't tell me he's lost power already, and we're only halfway!" She leaned in. "How pathetic."

I turned my head to her, glowering. "Don't."

"He speaks? What a fun trick," she snickered. "You must have been a last resort."

"Takes one to know one," I said, and she glared. "You don't know this team. Keep quiet and worry about the match."

"I know a few things," she sneered, leaning in. "I know your team is only on the top because of the racers who came before you. I know the captain before yours would never miss a match." She cocked a brow. "Perhaps your king, is not really the king he thinks he is."

I clenched my handlebars. "Well," I said. "He beat your team, didn't he?"

"The match isn't over yet, Fido." She faced forward. "We'll see about that."

"Racers, on your mark!"

"We will," I said. I clapped my face shield shut.

"Get set!

"Go!"

We went.

Whoever won anything, by taking what they are given?

We zipped ahead, fast and faster. Zahir and I were ahead of the packs in seconds, Corvus and the Terriers blazing in our wake. Jia's sneer, her cocky smile, her acerbic words, were like the teeth of a key to my throat.

I slammed my accelerator. I headed for the tunnel series.

"Yun, for fuck's sake, where the hell are you going?" Rosalie said.

"I've got a plan to take out Jia," I said. "Just let her come to me and keep everyone else off our tails."

"What plan?"

"Something that gets her off the fucking track," I promised.

"Yun," Coach snapped. "Do not go in that damn tunnel, I swear to God, you go in that tunnel and I'll skin you alive!"

"Make me into a nice purse," I said. 

"Right off the bat, Yun heads for the tunnel series!" Nathan said. "Every match I see him in, he gets more and more ambitious. Jia Hurley is headed after him. Davenport had a lot of trouble in the tunnel, so I'm curious to see if Yun will be able to keep up."

I entered.

It was pitch black everywhere save for where my headlights could spotlight. The shadows seemed to swallow everything whole. My heart seized and wrangled in my chest. 

Street racing meant that the roads were rarely ever smooth, with everything from sidewalks to potholes to hills to tree roots creating all kinds of hills and divots for your wheels to get caught in. It meant you had to be relatively creative if you wanted to race without interference. 

The best way to do it was to simply speed up and turn your wheels at a slight angle. It was risky in that you lost a lot of directional control and had to constantly turn your wheels left and right for every bump, but it got you out of having to slow down or fall. However, in a tunnel, it also meant I had very little room for error. There was nothing to go off of but my own gut and whatever blur I could catch in my limited vision. 

Peachy.

I held my breath. 

I sank as low to my bike as I could and surged faster. I raced through the main tunnel, my tires skidding over the divots as I went. In the very corner, I spotted the first tube.

I cranked my bike towards it and slinked inside. Jia was on my trail, the rumble of her bike vibrating my own. I clenched my jaw tight.

"Give me an opening, give me an opening," I said.

The tube began to turn a corner, circling back into the main tunnel.

I zipped straight for it. I careened around the bend.

I shifted gears and slammed the brakes. My wheel skidded, caught on the steel union, leaving my bike hanging off the edge mid-air. I twisted my self to the side as I began to fall.

Jia sailed for me, but faltered when she found me stopped. Her wheel didn't turn, and the front nose caught, just barely, on the union. I grinned.

I fell nearly diagonal and shifted my gear back into drive. I crammed the accelerator down and skidded with my wheel to the wall and my knuckles to the ground. I drove sideways. Then, I drove up.

Jia began to falter over the edge. She fell with both wheels lodged between the union. Halted.

I drove up, up, up, and over. Then, yanked my bike, back wheel down. When I heard the distinct metallic crush of the nose of her bike collapsing, I could only smile wider.

I sank my front wheel to the ground, and drove out the tunnel. Jia didn't follow me.

"It seems the Hurleys have found their street-tactic match with Yun in that incredible play!" Nathan laughed. "Jia Hurley has twelve seconds, but I highly doubt she'll be going anywhere after that move. Corvus leads by nearly forty points now!"

"Let's go, Yun!" Diego laughed.

"Good riddance," Meredith agreed.

"I'll let that one go," Coach said. "But from now on, stick to the plan! And keep out of that goddamn tunnel."

I smiled. "Yes, Coach."

I rode the concrete with smoke and sparks.

______________________

"An amazing match tonight against the Terriers, I have to say, both teams really brought their all to the track tonight in Boston. I'm excited to see the next match of Corvus's as they advance in Red, they remain the reigning champions of the last six years of Red, isn't that incredible? We'll have to see if they can hang onto the spot two weeks from now when they..."

I shut off my phone and flopped onto the hotel's unfamiliar sheets. Corvus had gone out for celebration and drinks, but I'd readily declined in favor of resting my aching bones and getting some real sleep for the first time in a week. Kenzo had also opted out, but for a different reason, saying something or other about meeting a family member considering he was in the area. Kane had obviously not gone, although his bad mood had faded enough by the end of the match to be smiling when we returned sweaty and bloody to the canopy.

"You're crazy," he told me, grinning. "What were you thinking?"

I shrugged. I gestured to the rest of Corvus. "I just copy what I learn."

He ruffled my hair, but didn't get to say more as soon as Diego slung his arm around my shoulders and knuckled my head.

"This kid! Cobayo, you reckless fucker, I love you!" he said with a laugh. "I could kiss you right now, right here."

"Spare me," I'd said, and so on.

I crooked an arm behind my head. I turned my head towards the window. Boston was a liquidy thing in the night, raindrops of light and bustling city life soaking the skyline. I closed my eyes to listen to the muffled music of it.

A dip in the bed made me open my eyes. 

Kane lied down next to me, eye to eye. It meant his feet had to hang off the edge of the bed, but I appreciated the courtesy. He said, "Hi."

I blinked. I turned onto my side to face him. "Hey."

I studied the cuts on his face, the gash across his cheek now covered by a bandage. I glanced at his arm, saw the distinctly new Band-Aid there, HELLO KITTY dancing on the patch. I pursed my lips. 

"You did really well today," he said. "On the track."

I hummed. "So did you."

He shrugged. A bone had broken somewhere in my body, lodged its pieces in my throat until they pierced my vocal chords. A clean cut clear across my larynx. Speaking was a war I was not meant to win.

Kane said, "I'm sorry, about how I've been lately." 

A scalpel. A blade. I swallowed. "Don't be," I said. "I get it."

Kane shook his head. "Still," he said. "I know it's been irritating." 

"Well, if it helps, you're always irritating one way or another," I said, earning a sharp look from him. "But if you mean you've been burdensome, then no. You haven't."

Kane's smile was a thin thing, but genuine nonetheless. He reached tentatively for my hand, his fingers brushing against mine. Heat festered lazily under our skin. "Your turns are better," he murmured. "You've got better balance than before."

I leaned forward. I brushed my lips at his chin, under his jaw. I pressed my hand over his heart to feel it beat. 

"Midnight practice really does help," I said.

He hummed and I felt it under my lips. "You're better with gear shifts, too. You used to hesitate too long," he said. I kissed him with a softness that was foreign even to me. He spoke quietly against my mouth. "You're not as frantic either, not fumbling so much. Seem more professional."

"Seem more Corvus?" I asked, swiping my thumb over his collarbone. 

He shook his head. He kissed me like moonlight. I felt the knives lodge in my throat, get caught in my esophagus. Tenderness ached like a fresh bruise. "You've been Corvus for a while," he said.

"Doubtful," I murmured. "Don't even have the jacket."

"That'll come," he promised, turning us over until he could plant both hands beside my head and prop himself above me. 

"You should've gone with them, to celebrate," I said. He kissed a line down my throat. I feared he'd taste the shrapnel in my voice box. "It would've been nice to see Boston."

"You should've gone then."

"I'm no good for drinking," I sighed. I pushed my hands up his torso, but stopped at the bandages, the bruising. 

"Me neither," he said. He took my wrists in his hands, placed them around his neck. "Just this," he said. "For tonight."

I let my finger brush the mole by his brow. I said, "We're probably no good together then."

"No," Kane said. "Probably not."

I tried to trace back the steps of when kissing had become something in my ability to want, in my ability to have. My brain came up foggy; a storm cloud of hope.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Probably not."

September whistled through Boston with autumn on its tongue. November sat like a sleeping viper in its shadows.

Waiting to strike.

(ty for reading! this chapter is back to being long again :D haha. ty for all your guys' comments and support, they really do make my day and i'm always so happy to see you enjoying this very wild story. halfway through red! wonder what awaits👀...)