The Short Track Promise
“You squeezed me to the wall,” Mateo said, his voice tight.
The leader was a sitting duck. A slower car, a rolling roadblock. Mateo faked high, then dove low into Turn 3. Their bumpers kissed, a clack that echoed through the grandstands. The leader wiggled, lost a tenth of a second, and Mateo was through.
Turn 3. The final corner. The place where legends were made or forgotten.