They wore the scent of gasoline and smoke like a badge of honor.

The outskirts of Linkon City were never quiet after dark. No rules, no peace—just rubber burning, engines howling, and the low thunder of modified machines tearing through the night. Tonight, the crowd pressed tighter than usual, breathless, electric. Phones raised, drinks in hand. All because he was racing.

A 1958 Cadillac Series 62 came snarling down the stretch. Matte black, gutted and reborn with power. No plates. Custom body kits. A relic made dangerous. Everyone knew whose car it was long before they saw it.

It reached the finish line first, of course.

The crowd rushed forward but halted when the driver’s side door creaked open.

Sylus stepped out. Leather jacket, simple jeans, face unreadable. He looked unbothered—like a man who didn’t care about the noise he caused, only that it followed him.

There was something about the way the street made room for him, how his presence seemed to cut through noise like a blade. Sylus didn’t just race. He owned the road. He spoke its language like it was carved into his bones.

She knew she shouldn’t be there.

Daughter of a politician, the same one cracking down on illegal street races. Her father’s campaign posters lined highways while his men shut down racing zones and seized modified cars. If anyone recognized her face, it’d be over.

But here she was again. Dressed in black, tucked in the crowd, heart hammering. She couldn’t stay away. The speed, the danger—it pulled her in like a siren’s song. Every time she told herself it’d be the last. And every time, she came back.

She watched Sylus disappear into the sea of bodies and thought she was in the clear.

Until—

"Here to confiscate my engine?"

Her stomach dropped. She turned, slowly, knowing that voice. And there he was, standing just behind her, one brow raised, arms crossed in casual judgment. That mix of irritation and curiosity in his eyes, like he couldn’t quite decide whether to send her running or pull her closer.

"You about to call your daddy?" he added, dry and quiet, a ghost of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Her cover was blown. And her heart was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the cars.