Elias sat behind the wheel of his silver E92 M3, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. The night air was cold, but his mind burned with determination—and something else. A stubborn need to prove himself, not just as a racer, but as Tino's equal.
They'd always argued about whose M3 was better—the raw, old-school power of Tino's E36, or the sleek, modern muscle of the E92 Elias drove. To Elias, it wasn't just about the car; it was about respect, about stepping out from his brother's shadow.
"Why does he get all the credit?" Elias thought, eyes scanning the road ahead. "I work just as hard. I'm just as good."
But beneath the rivalry was loyalty. He knew Tino would do anything to keep him safe, even if it meant risking his own life. Tonight, that bond would be tested.
As the engines roared to life and the race began, Elias pushed himself harder, the adrenaline igniting a fire that burned past fear.
Whatever happened tonight, he'd prove he wasn't just the little brother.
The race blurred into chaos.
He remembered the moment it all went wrong—the sharp jolt when the Supra tapped his rear quarter. The world spun sideways. Tyres screamed. Metal groaned. Panic flooded his chest like ice water.
He wasn't thinking about racing anymore.
He was thinking about dying.
And then—impact.
A blur of dark blue slammed into his driver's side, jolting him back onto the tarmac.
Tino.
"NO!" Elias shouted, twisting in his seat just in time to see his brother's E36 sailing off the edge of the bridge, back end glowing blue from ruptured nitrous.
A second later, the sky turned white.
Fire bloomed in the night.
The sound didn't reach him right away. It was like the world muted itself in grief.
He pulled over. Stumbled out. Dropped to his knees on the hard shoulder, staring at the black smoke rising above the river.
His body shook, but not from fear.
From guilt.
They'd argued hours before the race. Tino had warned him not to push too hard. Told him to ease off on certain turns. To let the Supra pass and play smart.
But Elias wanted to win. To prove something. To someone.
Now, the only person who ever truly believed in him was gone.
The flashing blue lights of emergency vehicles painted the night, but Elias didn't hear them. He barely noticed the officers pulling him away from the bridge or the reporters shouting questions through the barriers.
All he saw was the fire on the water.
All he heard was his brother's voice in his head, calm as ever:
"Keep it tight on the corners."
The police asked him questions. Paramedics checked his vitals. Someone tried to cover him with a foil blanket. But none of it registered.
Tino was gone.
They didn't find a body—just fragments of the car, scorched paint, twisted steel. The rest sank into the Thames, swallowed by the dark water.
They said the fire was so intense, no one could have survived.
They said it was a miracle he made it out.
But Elias didn't feel lucky.
He felt hollow.
At home, their mother didn't say a word when he walked in covered in ash and oil. She just held him and cried until morning.
He didn't sleep that night. Didn't sleep for days.
The E92 sat untouched in the driveway, front quarter scraped and dented from the collision. It mocked him in the silence.
He kept hearing the sound—the whoosh of nitrous, the crunch of metal, the fire bursting mid-air.
Kept seeing that split-second look on Tino's face: calm, determined, as if he knew what he was doing.
As if he'd already made peace with it.
Weeks passed.
The street racing scene went quiet. The police cracked down hard. Rumours flew.
Some said it was a setup.
Others claimed Tino's tank was sabotaged.
One guy swore he saw the car explode before it even hit the water.
Elias didn't care about the theories.
He just wanted his brother back.
But deep down… something didn't feel right.
Tino didn't just die. He disappeared.
And part of Elias wasn't sure that was the end