Chapter 6 The Shadow on the Grid

MAYA POV

Mechanics hovered around the rear wing of Nico’s car. I leaned my hip against the edge of the tool trolley, watching him stare at a glowing telemetry tablet. He still wore the bottom half of his race suit, the fireproof undershirt sticking to his shoulders. He didn't blink. He just traced a single line of data with his thumb.

“Are you going to stare at that screen until it fixes itself, or do we need to try unplugging the car and plugging it back in?” Crossing my arms to hide the leftover adrenaline still shaking through my hands.

He didn’t look up. "Power unit anomaly."

“Wow. Revolutionary diagnosis.” I rolled my eyes, deliberately pushing into his space. “Did it take the whole engineering department to figure that out, or did you crack the case all by yourself with your massive champion brain?”

He tapped the screen once, slowly. "It didn't just die. The cutoff was manual."

I waited for the rest. When nothing came, I pushed off the trolley and stepped into his line of sight. "And? Are you going to keep the rest of the mystery to yourself?"

He looked at me then. His eyes flicked to my hands, still trembling slightly from the race, then back to my face.“You drove well today,” he said quietly. “You held your line through Turn Four today," he said, completely ignoring my question. "Impressive.”

I blinked. My entire mental arsenal of insult comebacks evaporated on the spot. “Are you feeling okay? Did the power failure scramble your circuits? Because usually, you just tell me my corner entries are garbage.”

“Your corner entries are still a disaster.” The corner of his mouth twitched a tiny, almost invisible break in his pride. “But you held the line when it mattered.”

Before I could say anything, the entire atmosphere at the edge of the garage shifted.

He handed the tablet to a passing mechanic. "Walk with me."

We headed toward the hospitality suites. The paddock noise washed over us. I kept pace with his long strides, filling the silence because quiet spaces always made my skin itch.

"You know who I really want to meet while we're here?" I said, dodging a cameraman. "Carver."

Nico’s boot caught slightly on the pavement. He recovered instantly, but his pace dropped a fraction.

"Carver," he repeated. His voice flattened out entirely.

"Yeah. I mean, half the reason I’m even allowed in this paddock is because of his initiatives. He actually put money behind getting women into the junior categories. He's a legend. For real.”

Nico stopped walking. We were halfway between a stack of tires and the hospitality stairs. He looked at me, a tight, unreadable pull at the corner of his mouth. "You admire him."

"Of course I do. He’s brilliant. Why are you even looking at me like I just said I want to drive into a wall?"

He shifted his weight. His jaw worked once, a hard flex of muscle beneath his skin. He looked over my shoulder, then back down at me. "I just... didn't know you followed his career."

"Almost everyone follows his career. He's practically a motorsport royalty."

"Right." He started walking again. Faster this time. "Royalty."

We rounded the corner near the motorhomes. My mother stood near the entrance, holding a crumpled takeout bag. A man in a sharp, dark suit stood across from her. They were already deep in conversation.

I recognized the profile instantly. "Oh my god," I muttered, grabbing Nico’s elbow without thinking. "That’s him."

Nico’s arm was like iron under my grip. He didn't pull away, but he stopped dead in his tracks.

I let go and walked up, a massive smile taking over my face. "Mom, you didn't tell me we had guests."

Celia jumped. She pulled the paper bag tighter against her chest. Her face was perfectly almost smooth. "Maya. We were just... catching up."

Carver turned. Up close, his smile reached his eyes, warm and completely engaging. "Maya Baudelaires. I watched your race. I must say you are very good at what you do. Incredible car control in the final sector."

"Thank you, sir. Honestly, it’s a huge privilege to meet you. I've followed your foundation’s work for years now."

"Please, call me Carver." He held out a hand. I shook it. His grip was firm and steady. "Your mother and I were just reminiscing about the old club days."

I glanced at my mom. She wasn't looking at him. She was staring at a dark spot on the pavement near Carver’s polished shoes.

"I didn't know you two knew each other," I said.

"A long time ago," Celia said quickly. She took a step back, bumping lightly into the motorhome door. "We should let Mr. Laurent get back to his team."

Carver’s warm smile didn't waver. "Of course. Though I hope we get a chance to speak properly soon." He looked past me. I followed his gaze.

Nico stood ten feet away. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets. He hadn't said a word, but the space around him felt charged, strange and dangerous.

"Nico," Carver said, his tone still perfectly pleasant.

Nico just stared back. A full three seconds passed. "Carver."

Carver chuckled softly, patted my shoulder, and walked away. I watched him disappear into the crowd, then turned to Nico. "What was that about? You looked like you're ready to hit him."

Nico pulled his hands out of his pockets. "I need to get back to the garage."

Ten minutes later, I collapsed onto the small sofa inside my motorhome and kicked my boots off. The silence of the room rang in my ears. I reached for the takeout bag my mom had left on the counter, my stomach finally remembering it was empty.

My phone buzzed against the table. I picked it up, tearing a piece of chicken off the bone.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: You should stop asking questions about the crash.

I stared at the screen. An unknown number. I blinked twice, waiting for my brain to process it. Then, I snorted.

A warning text. Like I was starring in some cheap spy movie. I tossed the phone onto the cushion next to me and grabbed another piece of chicken. Whoever this was clearly thought they were in a movie.

“Okay, James Bond,” I muttered to the empty room, shaking my head. “Whatever you say.”