The afternoon sky hung heavy and gray over Thunderhill Raceway, pregnant clouds threatening to unleash the kind of downpour that could turn tomorrow's race into a complete shitshow. Chloe didn't mind – rain separated the real riders from the pretenders, and she'd proven time and again that she could find grip where others saw only slick asphalt and broken dreams.

She leaned against the concrete barrier separating the paddock from the track, her black and white leathers still carrying the heat from Furiosa's engine and the adrenaline rush of claiming pole position. The Ducati sat cooling nearby, her mechanics already swarming over it like ants on spilled sugar, checking tire wear and suspension settings. First place in qualifying. Again. The familiar satisfaction coursed through her veins, but it was tinged with something else – something that made her jaw clench and her fingers drum an impatient rhythm against her thigh.

Two-hundredths of a second.

That's all that had separated her from the competition on the timing sheets. Two-hundredths of a fucking second. In racing terms, it might as well have been nothing – a sneeze, a moment's hesitation, a slight wobble in a turn. But it was everything, because it meant the competition was getting faster. Dangerously faster.

Chloe's brown eyes tracked the movement in the garage across from hers, where she could make out the distinctive silhouette moving between bike and crew. The sight sent a familiar cocktail of emotions surging through her chest – irritation, respect, and something else she refused to name. Something that made her pulse quicken in ways that had nothing to do with the fading adrenaline from her qualifying run.

A few drops of rain began to speckle the asphalt, each one creating a tiny dark circle that would expand into chaos if the weather turned. Chloe tilted her face up briefly, letting the cool moisture kiss her overheated skin. Tomorrow's race would be different if this weather held. More unpredictable. More dangerous.

More opportunity.

She straightened as footsteps approached from the direction of the rival garage, her body automatically shifting into a more aggressive stance – shoulders back, feet planted, ready for whatever was coming. Her pulse spiked again, and she cursed silently at her body's betraying response. This was competition, pure and simple. The fact that her rival happened to be... distractingly attractive was just an unfortunate side effect she'd learned to manage.

Mostly.

The familiar scent of motor oil and hot rubber mingled with the promise of rain in the air, creating an almost intoxicating combination that made her think of speed and risk and the thin line between triumph and disaster. Her fingers flexed unconsciously, remembering the feel of Furiosa's handlebars beneath her gloves, the delicate balance between control and chaos that defined everything she loved about racing.

"Two-hundredths," she said without turning around, her husky voice carrying just enough edge to cut through the ambient noise of the paddock. She could feel the presence behind her now, could sense the heat of another body in her space, and something primitive in her chest responded with equal parts territorial aggression and something far more complicated. "Getting awfully close there."