Worry, all of it was just worry. He thought of making things better for Lu, of letting his body heal instead of waiting for it to break down for good, but he’d left all hope in the Pits and there wasn’t enough of it stored in his system to borrow a phone and let Lu talk him out of a bad idea. Adon paced the back of the garage three more lengths, inhaling and exhaling meditatively, the way Y had taught him, and then he was back in the Pits, all his focus on the next fight, nothing else in the world on his mind. 

Phaios noticed enough of a shift that he stepped back, letting Adon pass as he pulled his helmet on, confirming Tutor in his ear and calibrating his visor screen. Adon checked in with the team, matching their voices to their jobs as they introduced themselves on their station mics, running through the mech checks on his bike. He continued pacing as they waited for the officials to confirm their bike check, then let the group of white-clad legends poke and prod, zipping and unzipping his suit, patting him down for any sharp edges, testing the support of his spine-back, and witnessing him sign away all life-insurance warranties that weren’t covered by his participation package after he passed, answering their every question with practiced hand signals and confirmation nods that he was of sound mind, participating by his own will, and well aware of the risk. 

The huddle of officiants waddled through the backdoor shortcut to the next garage, following Nika, and Adon returned to his pacing, two steps ahead of every thought that might contain a doubt. This was not his life, it was Lu’s freedom, and that was enough to play dangerous games with. Adon jumped-squatted several times, controlling his breath and testing out the biometric alerts as his heart rate increased. He stretched out the stiff suit, grateful once again that he and Y were similar sizes and she’d already broken it in, then prepared to spend the next hour locked in a saddle, navigating a new course of mud, jumps, curves, blocks, and whatever else Nika’s designers had pulled out of their nightmares. 

Adon signaled to Phaios to clear the garage, despite Tutor whining about never leaving a bike unattended before a race. He assured them it was fine, then sat on the narrow bench of their track-window booth and watched the security camera live-feed footage of the lightshow, the track-level crowd pounding on glass and waving light banners, walking around wrapped in paid advertisements, hawking merchandise, or, higher up, in the central stands, away from the decrepit bulk of stadium seats, the neat box seats, entire rooms that were windowed on three sides, the fourth a cinematic screen for wealthy viewers to keep tabs on the parts of the race they couldn’t see. 

Phaios sighed uncertainly, but leaned over Tutor and plugged his phone into the cable Adon had left for him, recording the camera input screen for the empty bike garage as a figure who looked too obviously like Troy reached up to disable the cameras, his obnoxious glow-diamond-studded T-charm chain glinting around his neck. Adon smiled at Phaios from the track booth where over-excited fans were taking photos and streaming updates of him, time-stamped and accounted for. He waved and there was a hesitant cheer, more for the uniform, for the team he represented, than for the new rider, and Adon checked to see his odds had fallen. Only slightly, but enough to make the outcome he’d wanted much more likely. 

Phaios threw his hands up at Tutor and stomped over to Adon, holding out his phone with the incriminating evidence, “can they go back in now, or what?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Adon shrugged, “we’re good.” 

Phaios gestured to his team, sending them all filing back into the garage to find the bike brake lines expectedly cut. 

Tutor glared at Adon, clearly collecting insults and preparing a lecture about all the exact reasons he never left a garage empty before a race, but he stood suddenly as Y entered, led by Nika, who turned on her heel and left without so much as a wave to Doni. She knew he was planning something, and she didn’t want to know what. 

The entire team froze, gaping at the legendary racer, unaware that she was a regular of the empty track. She pulled her hood down and smacked Adon’s helmet affectionately, and Tutor and the rest of the garage began to wonder if maybe Phaios wasn’t crazy for handing off the race, and maybe they did have a shot at the cup. 

Adon handed Y Phaios’ phone and she pocketed it, bending to inspect Tutor’s work with an appreciative whistle, a wink, and a thumbs-up that sent a bright flush up his ears. 

If cheaters were dependable for anything in the Wells, it was that they would always find a way to do it again, but never after they’ve been caught. Adon smiled at how easily Troy had been played, at his own numbers win ratio climbing and falling as word spread that Y had been seen entering their garage (which was the sole reason Xeri was there, to point it out loudly and post the picture herself to the track’s public Platform page). 

When Tutor finished his work and flipped up the weld mask, Y bent to inspect, scrounging through Tutor’s line fusions and grimaced tightly at Adon, “it won’t last forever, but it will sell the story. It should get you to mid-race, maybe the end.” She frowned at him, “why didn’t you just plant a fake bike?”

Tutor nodded beside her, glaring at Adon from beneath the bike, double-checking his own work while the rest of the team tried not to panic, handing him tape and whatever else he called for. 

Adon scoffed, “first of all, I only had a week to plan, second, it’s not like Phai’s letting me in for free. I have to pay these fuckers,” he kicked lightly at the bike, “and third,” he held his gloved hands out instinctually while she ran through the same checks Phaios had done earlier, fixing his half-pinky and wishing he’d had time for custom gloves so the tip wouldn’t flop around, “Troy’s not stupid, he’s just dumb. Look,” he tapped the footage she was reviewing to send to Nika, “he even did it himself. He’s always been protected by the Flock, he never stopped to consider how he might fuck up. I thought he’d at least have someone else do it. You know I had Harmony on standby to look like him and do it herself if he didn’t?”

“Pffff,” Y smiled proudly, punching his arm, “of course you did.” He shoved her off and she laughed, restarting the video to watch it again while it uploaded to the New Internet. “I’m glad he did it though,” she muttered, “Harm might have cut your chain by accident.”

“No way.”

Y shrugged, “maybe for fun.”

They both laughed as Tutor stood from his roller board and stared, shaking his head, all his hopes of a victory sinking. Phaios hadn’t brought them a prodigy or a replacement, he’d brought them a crazy dog with a plan that none of them would like if they knew it. But he was starting to think even Adon didn’t fully know his plan, and that was part of the Finder’s charm—all the uncertainty in a world of customized endings.

Y sputtered at the video for the fourth time, “I don’t think he’s just dumb, Doni, I think he’s stupid too, he did it himself, that’s crazy. This is so easy. You don’t even have to race, just send it now.”

“No way, I need him un-spawnable, RD’d, no longer an issue, not temporarily respawned.”

She nodded, distracted by the video a sixth time, “I really can’t believe he did it himself, and the necklace? Are you sure it’s him? Is he that stupid?”

“Maybe, but Nika pays the pit crews really well, so who would risk a permanent team position for that kind of insider snitch shit? If he tried to hire out, they’d ask under who’s name, right? Then he’d have to reveal Gideon’s backing for an unsanctioned job, but he’s supposed to be a free agent, right? So he thought he’d do it himself, and he thought all cameras can only see what his own eyes can see—honestly he did really good for how dark it was.” Adon shrugged, “he tried at least”

Y smacked his arm, “what did we say about being nice to the people we’re about to kill, Doni?”

Adon sighed, nodding, “just push ‘em.”

She laughed, checking his suit collar and spine support, tightening the O2 valves and wiping down the screen of his visor a final time as the siren signaled racers to their marks at the starting gate. “And if you can’t push them on purpose?” Y double-tapped his helmet.

Adon flipped her off with a wicked smile as he jogged away, “kill ‘em on accident!”

Y cackled, chasing him toward the gate. Tutor wheeled the bike behind them, unnerved at their matching energy, doubting his judgment of good riders. Maybe they were all psychos, maybe they had to be.

Adon paused at the garage exit that would spit him onto the track, letting Tutor ahead of him and leaning a shoulder into Y and pulling up his visor so she could see his bright sincerity, “you think there’s any anger in the world more passionate than those who bet on an underdog newbie watching a cheater win?” Adon beamed at her, whispering lightly “it’s going to be chaos, get out first, okay?”

She smacked his visor back down, “I’m leaving now. You die, I’ll kill you.”

Adon held up his tallied arm hidden by the suit, “most I’ll get is another line.”

“No more lines!” Y whined, “next time you almost die, I’ll just stab you with the needle myself!”

Adon chuckled, looking pointedly at her fresh bandages, his expression apparent despite the dark helmet, “why don’t you tell that to yourself?”

“What?” Y craned sarcastically, “I can’t hear you.”

Adon flipped up his visor screen, offering her a cursing finger as his team pushed him toward the gate, “I PROMISE I WON’T GET SHOT AT LEAST!” He called, laughing at Y’s pout and skipping down to the track. 

Y folded her arms in the track booth, glaring anxiously as Phaios sidled beside her. 

“Worried?” He didn’t look up from his tablet feed.

She sighed, “I told him I’ll kill him if he dies.”

Phaios snorted, “Lu would kill him first.”

She watched Phaios stare after Adon for a long minute before shoving past him and striding through the garage to drag X away from the track before the riots started, and the tents burned, and someone in the Quartet found another reason to blame him for something he didn’t do. She glared back at the familiar track setup with a brief shiver, rubbing at the filled hole in her chest, pieces of memory clicking together with the sound of the crowd—the sudden pain, the shaking bike, the fall, the skid, the smoke. 

She laughed aloud victoriously as she moved through the flowing crowd because she’d survived, and so would Adon. She paused at an entrance to the general stands, glaring at the ribbon of banner ads that flashed box-seat camera views until they flashed a scene of Gideon sitting beside the Conductor in a central position, no prison uniform, no visible tracker. He was a free man as far as she could tell and Y snarled at him with a silent promise and prayer that Adon would reach him eventually. The Conductor was X’s to face, but Gideon, Gideon was all of theirs and it was Adon who would take him out, because it was Lu who would give him permission. Y was busy fighting X’s war and following X’s plans, so no matter how much she wanted to aim one of those neon Ghosts at Gideon’s head and watch his watercolor brains drip a mural over some abandoned corridor, she would leave it to Adon, trusting that when he did it, it would be on purpose. 

☆☆☆