Something inside Ace—something he’d buried under years of contracts and telemetry—snapped.

Rose shot through the slot, crossing the dead zone under the silent radio tower. She’d won. But she slammed her own brakes and spun the car sideways, blocking the canyon.

The race was the Trans-Sierra Desolation , a 500-mile outlaw sprint through the razorback turns of the Sierra Muerta. No rules. No finish line cameras. Just a rusty radio tower at the end and the honor of being the first to reach it.