Zara couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The race had been a blur—a mix of speed, instinct, and adrenaline. But now, as the rush faded, it left behind an eerie unease that clung to her like a thick fog. The shadow racer had appeared out of nowhere, a ghost on the track, only to vanish just as suddenly. It was as though they had never been there at all.
She leaned against her car in the dimly lit underground garage, her fingers gripping the cool metal of the hood as she replayed every second of the race. The crowd had dispersed, leaving behind only the distant hum of engines revving somewhere in the depths of the city. The underground racing scene never truly slept. But tonight, for Zara, the night felt different.
The echo of her own heartbeat pounded in her ears. That car—the black phantom—had felt too familiar. The way it moved, the way it controlled the turns, as if the driver knew the track better than anyone else. It wasn't just skill. It was something more. Something unsettling.
"Zara," Noor's voice broke through her thoughts, sharp with urgency.
She turned to find her best friend approaching, her expression tight with concern. Noor was rarely rattled—she had seen Zara at her highest and at her lowest, had been there through every crash, every win, every heartbreak. But right now, her brown eyes were clouded with something Zara rarely saw in her—fear.
"We need to talk," Noor said, stopping just a foot away.
Zara raised an eyebrow, shifting slightly so she was facing her fully. "What's wrong?"
Noor hesitated, glancing around before lowering her voice. "That racer… the black car. I've seen it before."
Zara's breath caught in her throat. She had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed sent a slow, cold chill down her spine.
"Where?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Noor looked down for a moment, as if debating whether to tell her. Then, with a deep breath, she met Zara's gaze again. "Around. Different races, different cities. Always there, always watching. But no one ever knows who they are. They never take off their helmet, never speak. And then there's the other thing…"
Zara narrowed her eyes. "What other thing?"
Noor swallowed. "That car is bad luck. It's been around for years, and every time it shows up, something happens. Crashes. Accidents. Some people say the driver's cursed. Others say it's not the same person behind the wheel every time, that the car is passed down, but whoever takes it… never comes back the same."
Zara scoffed, though her fingers curled slightly against the car's surface. "You really believe in that kind of thing?"
Noor crossed her arms. "I don't believe in curses. But I do believe in patterns. And this? It's a pattern, Zara. One that keeps repeating."
Zara let out a slow breath, forcing her mind to stay rational. But she couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that Noor was right. The race, the mysterious driver, the way they had targeted her specifically—it wasn't just a coincidence. And the worst part? Something about them had felt painfully, hauntingly familiar.
Could it be possible that this racer—whoever they were—knew something about her past?
She thought back to the accident, to the moment everything had fallen apart. It had never sat right with her. There had been gaps in the story, missing pieces that no one had been able to explain. And now, this racer had appeared just as she was getting back into the game. It was too much to ignore.
"Noor…" Zara started, her voice hesitant. "What if they know something?"
Noor's expression hardened. "That's exactly why I don't want you going after them."
Zara clenched her jaw. "But what if they have answers?"
"Or what if they're just here to finish what they started?" Noor shot back.
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
Zara wanted to dismiss Noor's warning. She wanted to believe this was just another opponent—one she could outpace, outmaneuver. But deep down, she knew this was different.
Before she could say anything else, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She pulled it out, frowning at the unknown number flashing on the screen. Something about it made her stomach twist. She hesitated for only a second before swiping to answer.
"Zara Voss." Her voice was steady, controlled.
There was silence on the other end. Then, finally, a voice crackled through the line.
"I know what you're looking for," the voice said, low and distorted. "I know the truth behind your fall."
Zara's grip on the phone tightened. The world around her seemed to slow, as if the moment itself had stretched out indefinitely.
"Who is this?" she demanded.
The voice chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "That's not important. What matters is… do you want the truth?"
Zara's pulse pounded.
The truth. The one thing she had chased for years. The one thing that had been just out of reach.
"Yes," she said, her voice firm.
"Then race me," the voice replied.
Zara's breath caught.
"Tomorrow night," the caller continued. "Midnight. The old industrial district."
She recognized the place immediately—an abandoned set of winding roads, perfect for high-stakes racing but filled with dangerous turns and barely any streetlights. It was the kind of place only experienced drivers dared to go.
Before she could respond, the line went dead.
She stared at her phone, her heartbeat a relentless rhythm in her chest.
Noor exhaled sharply. "Please tell me you're not actually considering this."
Zara lifted her gaze, meeting Noor's worried eyes.
"I have to," she said. "If they know something… I need to find out."
Noor ran a hand through her hair, clearly frustrated. "And what if it's a setup? What if this is exactly what they want?"
Zara let out a slow breath, her mind already made up.
"Then I'll play their game," she said. "And I'll win."
Noor shook her head, but she knew better than to argue.
As Zara climbed into her car, gripping the steering wheel, she felt something stir deep inside her—a fire that had never truly gone out.
The past was no longer a distant memory. It was back. It was chasing her.
And she was done running.
She revved the engine, the sound roaring into the night.
The race was on.