Page 132 of Knot So Fast
The organized chaos that follows is typical Titan Racing efficiency. We move from the running torture to sector walks,where Caspian breaks down every meter of the upcoming Barcelona track with the kind of detail that makes my brain hurt. He's got laminated cards with corner names, brake markers, gear selections, all of it color-coded and organized like we're planning a military invasion rather than a race.
"Turn three is where most people lose time," he explains, pointing at a diagram that looks like something NASA would use. "The entry is deceptive—it looks faster than it is. Brake five meters earlier than your instinct tells you."
Then come the hands-on aero briefs, which basically means standing in a wind tunnel while engineers explain how air moves over the car at different speeds. They've got smoke machines and everything, creating visible airflow patterns that are supposedly crucial to understanding downforce but mostly just make me feel like I'm in a very expensive nightclub.
The reaction drills with light boards are where things get properly sadistic. Random lights flash in sequence, and we have to tap them as quickly as possible, training our peripheral vision and hand-eye coordination. It sounds simple until you're thirty minutes in and your calves are screaming from constantly shifting position and your arms feel like they're going to fall off.
"Faster, Vale!" Terek shouts. "In a real race, that delay would cost you three positions!"
"In a real race, I'm sitting down!" I shout back, which earns me a laugh from Dex and another set of lights to chase.
Through it all, Dex is multitasking like a champion, chirping promo lines into a handheld recorder for upcoming broadcasts. His commentary voice is completely different from his normal speaking voice—deeper, more polished, with that particular cadence that makes even grocery lists sound exciting.
"The Spanish Grand Prix promises to be a thriller," he practices, then stops and frowns. "No, that's cliché. The Barcelona circuit will test every driver's limits? Ugh, worse."
"How about 'Watch as twenty drivers slowly cook to death in carbon fiber ovens'?" I suggest.
"Accurate but probably not sponsor-friendly."
Meanwhile, Caspian is hunched over his laptop, diagramming what he calls "Operation Phoenix"—a strategy that involves either one or two pit stops depending on tire degradation that he's calculated down to the molecular level.
"If we maintain track position through turn one," he mutters, fingers flying across the keyboard, "and the temperature stays below thirty-two degrees, we can extend the first stint by three laps, which would give us a four-second advantage for the undercut?—"
"English, please," Katie interrupts, having wandered over to observe the organized chaos.
"We go fast, change tires at the right time, hopefully win," Kieran translates.
"Why didn't he just say that?"
"Because then he wouldn't get to use his fancy engineering degree."
Katie looks around at all of us—sweaty, exhausted, still somehow bickering and planning and pushing forward—and shakes her head. "I better find a male Omega outside of this field because I ain't doing all this training shit regularly."
I laugh, which turns into a cough because my throat is still raw from the run. "What, you don't want to join our suffering club?"
"Hard pass. I'll stick to making sure nobody kills you off-track. The on-track death wish is your own problem."
Terek finally takes mercy on us, walking over with the closest thing to approval I've ever seen on his face. "Good job today. We'll do it again tomorrow."
The collective groan that follows probably registers on seismographs.
Katie starts to dismiss herself, already pulling out her phone to no doubt continue managing my digital existence, but then pauses. "Oh, heads up—Lucius the trouble twin may be around."
That gets everyone's attention. The relaxed post-workout atmosphere suddenly has an edge to it, like someone just mentioned there might be a bomb in the building but they're not sure where.
"Why?" I ask as Kieran comes to stand beside me, close enough that I can feel the protective energy radiating off him.
Katie shrugs, scrolling through something on her phone. "Three teams are fighting for his participation, but instead of just choosing like a normal person, he's drawing it out. Keeps coming to these headquarters to give off the impression you guys are gonna sign him unexpectedly."
Terek sighs, the sound containing years of exhaustion. "Well, he had his chance and blew it once. He's not getting a second shot."
I frown, another gap in my memory making itself known. "What chance?"
Kieran explains quickly, his voice carefully neutral like he's reciting facts rather than drama. "Lucius was actually originally hired to race before Lachlan. Had a contract and everything. But he fucked up in the trials—crashed the car showing off, then tried to blame the engineers for a mechanical failure that didn't exist."
"Terek found out about Lachlan by accident," Caspian adds. "He was just coming to watch his brother fail, basically. But Terek convinced him to do a test run to show what was supposedly wrong with the car."
"Outshined everyone on the track," Dex finishes. "Lap times that shouldn't have been possible with that car. That's how Lachlan got in."
