Ava rode down the ridge slow and smooth, the matte black bike kicking up a controlled spiral of dust behind her. She didn't rush. The anomaly was dead, Kai was still standing, and Lucas—was watching her with the kind of intensity that made it feel like the temperature had dropped ten degrees.
She dismounted in a single fluid movement, pulled off her helmet, and shook her hair out with practiced ease. A few silver-streaked strands clung to her cheek. She let them. Made it part of the look.
She smiled. Not her usual half-smirk, not the narrow-eyed suspicion. This one was wider. Almost playful. Almost warm.
Lucas tensed.
Kai, to his credit, tilted his head, eyeing her like someone trying to place an old song. "I know you."
"Do you?"
"That voice. The eyes. Back in Threadspace. The girl with the sharp mouth."
"You left out the deadly aim," she said. "You're slipping."
Lucas made a sound—low and not entirely polite.
