42. Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates

The sun had set an hour earlier and it was still ferociously hot, but Mira wouldn’t have retreated to the air-conditioned comfort of the offices if her life depended on it. She stayed right behind her father, next to the track, watching the race on a bank of monitors over his shoulder. Behind her, nearly every other member of the Lennox team stared at the monitors as well, in rapt, anxious silence.

At her father’s side, Harry chomped on a gnarled plastic coffee stir stick. Now and then, Paul spoke into his headset microphone, consulting with the two race engineers or the team strategist, but mostly, he just stared motionless at the monitors as if he was willing himself inside.

Out on the track, an hour into the race, Will’s championship still hung in the balance. Despite the points lost in Monza, Will had come back strong in the following races, but he was still stuck in second place.

He’d dominated in qualifying, pulling pole position. But his gearbox failed at the end of the day, requiring an unscheduled replacement. It led to a five-spot grid penalty, putting him at a disadvantage right from the start. He was driving masterfully, fighting like hell, but so was everyone else, in this, the last race of the season. In the end, his best might not be enough to make him the best.

Even without the world championship, the season was already an unqualified success for Lennox. Two races ago, Lennox amassed enough points to ensure they’d be awarded the Constructor’s Championship for the best car of the season. That was a triumph for everyone. They’d gone into today’s race with Matteo ranked seventh and Will ranked second. No one could argue with those results.

But Mira wanted this world championship for him so badly. He deserved it. And after the incident with Brody had nearly imperiled his whole season, he’d clawed his way back to the top of the heap. He was almost there. Only five points back.

Violet came to a stop beside her. “Well, I’ve laid in enough champagne to fill a swimming pool. Either we’ll be celebrating a victory with it or drowning our sorrows. How’s it looking out there?”

Mira nervously tapped two fingers against her bottom lip, watching the sleek blue of Will’s car bank sharply around a curve, just behind another car. “Seven laps to go. He’s just caught René Denis but Liam O’Neill is still out in front.”

René, the reigning world champion, had come into the season strong, but Liam had been the surprise, sneaking up the rankings and ahead of René while everybody had been paying attention to Will. After Will missed Monza, Liam had shot into the season lead.

“Hmm.” Violet’s grim hum echoed everyone’s mood. Thanks to that penalty, Will had started in sixth place. Even though he’d carved his way up to third, he needed to win the race to take the championship. He’d have to ask the car for the impossible to pass both René and Liam.

It didn’t matter, she told herself. Will was young. He had many years of racing ahead of him, and so many more opportunities to win this. If it didn’t happen this year, he’d just go for it again next year. He’d shown everyone in the sport that he was already a champion, with or without this win.

But it still didn’t stop her from wanting it. She wanted it so badly.

HE WAS SO CLOSE he could taste it. Despite the penalty, Will had a great start, and he’d ruthlessly worked his way back onto the podium. Now the world championship dangled in front of him, so close and yet still just a little out of reach. He’d passed René. Now Liam O’Neill was the only one left between him and the win.

Up ahead, Liam’s gearbox taunted him as the laps ticked down. As they approached Turn Five, Tae delivered the good news. “Four laps to go. Reminder, you’re clear to use your overtake anytime until the end of the race.”

Great. But where to use it? Because it wasn’t unlimited usage. If he took the classic dive bomb into Turn Six, it would give Liam the opportunity on the exit out of Turn Seven to retake. And if he somehow held Liam off, the DRS down to Turn Nine would be fatal to Will’s chances. Even worse, it would drain the battery and he’d lose time letting it recharge. So at best he had two shots to make it work before he ran out of time. As he rounded the painfully slow Turn Five he could see Liam’s car twitching on exit, a sure sign he was putting it absolutely on the limit. It was time to set the trap.

“I think my tires are going. I’m starting to lose the rears,” he told Tae in his headset.

“Affirm,” Tae replied, instantly catching on. “Let’s try to increase lift and coast into Turn Six.”

Every radio transmission was being monitored by everyone out on the track, so Liam and his team had just heard that. But there wasn’t exactly a rule against bluffing.

He engaged the DRS on the long run down to Turn Six. As they approached the braking zone, Liam braked a couple of meters earlier than he’d expected. Clearly his team had taken the bait and they were into “get it home in one piece” mode. He’d hooked him.

He barreled toward the turn with as much speed as the car could bear, using the grip he’d just told Tae his tires didn’t have. Liam, who’d been counting on Will’s worn-out tires, was stuck, forced off the racing line entering Turn Six and compromising his exit of Turn Seven. But with the inside Liam was able to maintain the lead, which was exactly what Will wanted. For now.

“Am I good to use overtake yet?” He knew the answer, but he prayed that Tae would still get what he was trying to do.

“You’re better off waiting until two laps from the end, Engine Eleven position six,” Tae said, fully on board with the bluff.

Time to roll the dice.

As he began closing the gap to Liam once again, he shifted slightly to the inside. Once again, Liam took the bait, moving to the inside to defend his position. Will made a show of following him to set the hook deep, and then when he was running at full speed into the turn, he swung fast to the outside, blasting past him. He’d left Liam no time to widen his turn and block him.

But it wasn’t over yet. Even though he’d pinned his rival to the inside, he was left fighting for his life around the outside, struggling to keep the car on the track. Liam was still there on his left. But if he could hang on through this turn, he’d have him. Just as he began to fear he’d asked too much of the car, it was done. The track straightened out ahead of him and all he had to do was accelerate, mashing the overtake button he’d been saving and burying the throttle.

“Got him!” Tae shouted in his ear as he nosed ahead of Liam.

That felt good, but this wasn’t over. He had to hold Liam off and grow that lead as much as he could in the remaining laps. He’d faked Liam out, but that wouldn’t work again. And he’d counted on Liam’s car being maxed out. There was always the possibility that Liam was faking, too.

“Three laps to go,” Tae said. “I believe you owe everyone on the pit wall a new pair of underwear.”

“I just need a list of their favorite colors. How am I for these laps?”

“You’re good on fuel to the end.”

“What’s the gap?”

“One point four.”

Just over a second between them with three more laps to go. Too close for comfort.

Paul suddenly broke into the channel. “Stellar job, son, let’s bring this home in one piece.”

Oh, so now he was “son”? Paul had thawed a lot since the nightmare of Monza, but he was still uncomfortable whenever he encountered a reminder of his daughter’s relationship. Maybe if Will won today, every last reservation Paul had would magically melt away.

“Just have champagne waiting for me in my hotel.”

“That’s what I like to hear from my world champion.”

He held Liam off for another lap, but only just. He was still nipping at his heels. The fucker might still manage to sneak around him in the last lap. Time to make that impossible.

“Gap?” he asked Tae.

“One point seven.”

Better, but not good enough. Not for him. As he entered the straight, he opened up the car and gave it everything he had. He had the best car on the track, without a doubt, and now it showed. He focused on controlling the speed as Tae barked times into his ear.

“Just a reminder, Will,” Tae said. “We don’t need the point for fastest lap.”

“Yes we do,” he said between gritted teeth. He was leaving it all on the track today. Everything the tires could give him, every ounce of fuel, every bit of strength left in his body. Then, while he was gritting his teeth through the last turn complex, his head still full of tire pressures and brake temps and hydraulic pressure, he rounded Turn Sixteen and suddenly there it was, waving in front of him, filling his vision—the checkered flag.

He won.

He’d just won the world championship.

DIMLY, MIRA WAS AWARE OF SCREAMS, of Natalia kissing her cheek before Paul snatched her up in a hug, of Violet shrieking in her ear and throwing her arms around her neck. The Lennox paddock was pandemonium.

First, Will had to do the obligatory victory donuts with the car, burning up the tires and sending up a curtain of smoke as the race fans screamed their appreciation. But finally, the crew pulled aside the barricades and the sleek blue car coasted into the waiting crowd. He was swarmed, an army of pit crew guys and mechanics rushing to pull him free, everyone shouting and laughing. Eventually his head rose above the crowd, his hair sweaty and tangled where he’d yanked his balaclava free. As if there were no other person in the paddock, his eyes went straight to hers, and he grinned, wide and triumphant.

“Go,” Violet said, shoving her through the crowd toward him. “He doesn’t want any of them. He wants you.”

She wound her way through the crew, until they seemed to realize she was there and fell back enough to make space. Will was standing on the seat of the car, helmet still hanging from his left hand. He reached the other out to her. Planting one foot on the edge of the car, she let him pull her up, until she was standing next to him, his arm banded around her waist.

She reached up to touch his flushed face. “I’m so proud of you, Will. You won,” she said, her voice barely audible over the rising din.

He glowed with triumph, and her heart felt about to burst. The smile he gave her was a private one, something intimate that had nothing to do with winners’ podiums. He pressed his palm to her cheek. “Yes, I won,” he said. “We won.”

And she knew he wasn’t talking about the team or racing. When she answered him, neither was she. “Yes, we did.”