That is All I Ask For: Chapter 11: Ghosts in the Pit
The city lights shimmered like
fractured glass outside the wide floor-to-ceiling windows of Micah's penthouse
office. From this height, the world looked neat. Orderly. Controlled.
Unlike his chest.
Micah sat behind a matte-black
desk at Eclipse HQ, papers strewn in precise piles, his eyes scanning the same
budget report for the third time. A racing suit from a past championship hung
in a case on the wall—one of many victories he no longer cared to remember.
He hadn't stepped foot in the
garage since he left. Not even for a second.
But the wires that held the team
together? They still ran through him.
Orders were placed, parts
delivered, fuel accounted for. Tuning data was sent in by the mechanics,
reviewed by an Eclipse algorithms team, and quietly corrected under Micah's
name—though no one acknowledged it.
He didn't want acknowledgment.
He just wanted distance.
Micah had survived betrayal
before. He knew how to rebuild after being broken. But this time?
This one cut deeper.
Because this wasn't just any
team.
It was his team.
And more than that...
It was Dante.
He closed the file with a click
and leaned back, the leather of his chair creaking faintly.
Across the room, his phone buzzed. A message from Meredith.
Final prep for the first race
done. You sure you won't come watch, even from the stands?
He didn't reply. Not right away.
He typed, deleted, then typed
again.
The parts shipment will reach on
time. Tell them to check tire pressure sensors—I flagged a misread in Daniel's
last run.
And that was it.
Back to silence.
The track shimmered under early
spring sun, humming with activity. The team's colors gleamed across the
paddock, their cars polished, crew sharp and focused.
But the space Micah once filled
was still... empty.
They felt it in small ways.
The quiet before the green light
wasn't the same without his voice in their ears.
The mechanics hesitated more
without his eyes catching errors they missed.
Even Dante's posture—once
confident, fluid—looked ever so slightly off. His turns were clean. Fast. But
they didn't have that edge Micah always unlocked in him.
They finished 5th.
It was a good race. Solid.
Respectable.
But not alive.
Dante stood near the team tent
after the debrief, arms crossed, visor pushed up. His eyes scanned the
crowd—not for reporters, not for fans.
For him.
But Micah wasn't there.
Not on the rail. Not in the
garages. Not anywhere.
Daniel walked up beside him,
wiping his face with a towel. "Better than I expected." He said.
Dante gave a noncommittal nod.
"You think he watched
it?" Daniel asked, voice quieter.
Dante didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
The next day, Dante found himself
standing outside Eclipse HQ.
He didn't know how he got there.
Just that he had to see him. Talk
to him. Make it right.
He asked at the front desk.
"I'm here to see Micah."
The receptionist blinked.
"Mr. Blade is working remotely today."
"Where?"
"I'm afraid I can't disclose
that."
Dante sighed, rubbing his temple.
He tried again three days
later—this time, early morning. Meredith said Micah liked the east wing garage
at dawn. But all he found was a quiet space and a set of fresh tire prints
leading away.
Every time he got close, Micah
was already gone.
Like he knew.
Like he didn't want to be found.
"You and him," Meredith
said, arms folded, "used to hold this team together like tension
wire."
Dante looked up from his
telemetry sheet. They were sitting in the mobile lab after practice, the tent
quieter than usual.
"And now?" He asked,
voice dull.
"Now we're fraying."
She replied. "You can't see it because you're in it. But we're snapping
apart one thread at a time."
He exhaled slowly, guilt pressing
down like weight on his chest.
"Have you seen him?" He
asked.
She nodded.
"And?"
Meredith hesitated. "He's
breathing. Barely. You hurt him worse than anyone ever has. And what's worse?
He still makes sure your car doesn't fall apart on the track."
Dante clenched his fists. "I
didn't mean to—"
"But you did." Meredith
said. "You ignored him when he needed you. Just like everyone else did to
you all those years ago. You knew what that felt like. And you still let it
happen."
Dante looked away. "I want
to fix it."
"Then stop looking for him
in garages. He won't come back for a race." Her voice softened.
"He'll come back when he thinks he's safe with you again."
The sun was barely over the
horizon when Micah left the city.
He wasn't sure why he was headed
toward the coast—just that the wind in his hair and the open highway dulled the
ache in his chest in ways silence never could. His Eclipse-issued car hummed
beneath him, tuned to perfection, but it wasn't speed he craved.
It was space.
And maybe, distance from the
version of himself that still wanted to turn back.
He stopped at an old roadside
station on the outskirts of a long-forgotten racing town. The kind of place
racers once passed through on their way to legends. Now it was just fuel,
cracked pavement, and coffee that tasted like rust.
As he stepped out of the car,
someone spoke from near the pumps.
"Well, I'll be damned.
Thought you'd vanished into that penthouse of yours for good."
Micah froze.
Then he turned.
A man leaned casually against an
old Ducati motorcycle, sunglasses low on his nose, a greying beard curled along
a weather-worn jaw.
Alastor Vale. His former mentor.
One of the sharpest racing minds of his generation.
Micah hadn't seen him in years.
"Didn't think you were still
hanging around these parts." Micah said, cautiously.
Alastor smirked. "Didn't
think you were still chasing shadows."
Micah tensed.
Alastor took a slow drag of his
cigarette, then flicked it away. "Word travels. Vex, huh? Should've known
that bastard wasn't acting alone."
Micah stiffened. "You
knew?"
"I had a feeling."
Alastor said, voice darkening. "That kind of chaos? That wasn't just
revenge. That was orchestration. He was too sloppy to hide it."
Micah stepped closer. "Then
who helped him?"
Alastor looked away for a moment,
jaw tight. "I wasn't going to say anything. But if you're in the middle of
it again..."
He turned and faced Micah fully.
"You ever hear the name Adam Shade?"
Micah's blood ran cold.
"...Dante's father?"
"Adoptive." Alastor
corrected. "But yeah. Powerful. Strategic. Dangerous. I'd bet my last tire
he was pulling the strings behind Vex."
Micah stared at him, every
instinct burning. The pieces clicked together too easily: Vex's sudden
reappearance, the precision of the sabotage, the manipulation, the silence.
Dante didn't just ignore his
warning.
He didn't know who he was truly
dealing with.
Micah's voice was low. "Why
would Shade be involved?"
Alastor shrugged. "Why does
any ghost return? Pride. Control. Maybe he thinks the sport owes him
something."
Or maybe, Micah thought, he wants
to finish the job he started when he left Dante broken.
Alastor reached into his jacket
and handed over a crumpled note.
"An old contact sent this.
Surveillance feed from a racing lobby in Zurich. Shade was there... talking to
Vex. Two weeks before all this started."
Micah took it, his jaw
tightening. "Thanks."
"Careful, kid." Alastor
said as he mounted his bike. "Some games you don't walk away from. And
this one? You're not just playing with engines. You're playing with men who
think they own the road."
With a roar, the Ducati peeled
off down the road, leaving Micah in a haze of exhaust and growing dread.
Dante sat at the edge of the pit
wall, legs dangling off the concrete, the rest of the world moving behind him
like background noise. He hadn't spoken much since the last race. Not to
Meredith. Not to Daniel.
He couldn't.
Because all he could think
about... was Micah.
And how he lost him.
He barely heard his phone buzz
beside him.
He looked down. No caller ID.
Just a strange sense of déjà vu.
Then he answered.
"Hello?"
A voice answered, low and smooth.
"You've been busy,
Dante."
Dante stiffened.
"...Adam?"
"I'm surprised it took you
this long to respond." Adam Shade said. "We need to talk."
"What the hell could we
possibly talk about?"
"About your future. And the
path Micah Blade is leading you down."
Dante gritted his teeth.
"You don't know anything about Micah."
"Oh." Adam replied
calmly. "I know more than you think. Meet me tomorrow. Or the next race
might be your last."
The call cut off.
Comments
Post a Comment