Aliyah's POV
The sun was already up when I crawled out of my tent, the air heavy with the smell of salt and damp sand. Asher was leaning against his bike, arms folded, watching the waves like he was weighing something in his head.
"Morning," I mumbled, pulling my jacket tighter.
His gaze slid to me, that familiar half-smirk tugging at his mouth. "Thought we'd get you back on the bike today."
I frowned. "No."
"It's not a race," he said, pushing off the bike. "Just a little practice. Stretch your legs. Feel the wind."
I shook my head, but he stepped closer, his shadow crossing mine. "C'mon, you used to love this. Don't let fear make your world smaller."
"It's not fear," I said, but even to my ears it sounded weak.
His eyes softened, but his voice stayed steady. "Then prove it."
I hesitated, my stomach already uneasy. The thought of the engine's roar under me brought back more than memories — it brought the pit in my gut, the flash of light, the way the air had been knocked out of me that day.
Still, the way he was looking at me, like he knew I was going to say yes, made it hard to walk away.
"Fine," I muttered.
The sun was higher by the time we reached the open stretch of road. The asphalt shimmered with heat, the wind pulling at my hair. I gripped the handlebars, the leather warm under my palms. Asher stood a few feet away, watching like a hawk, his stance loose but ready.
"Just easy laps," he called. "Breathe, don't fight it."
I started slowly, the hum of the engine vibrating up through my arms. The first turn came easy, muscle memory taking over. For a few seconds, I almost forgot why I'd said no.
Then the dizziness hit — sudden, sharp, like the world had tilted. My vision blurred and the bike wobbled under me.
"Aliyah!"
Before I could hit the ground, Asher was there, hands gripping the handlebars and my waist in the same motion. The heat of his palms through my jacket made my breath hitch.
"You okay?" His voice was close, his eyes searching mine.
"I'm fine," I lied, trying to steady my legs.
"Fine? it doesn't look like.," he said.
"It was nothing."
He didn't buy it, but he let it drop. "Let's take a break."
We wheeled the bike toward the small garage at the edge of town, where the smell of oil and rubber hung thick in the air. Inside, a stocky guy in grease-streaked overalls looked up from under the hood of a beat-up truck.
"Aliyah?" His grin widened. "Damn, haven't seen you since the Ember Ridge circuit. Thought you quit for good."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Timo?"
"In the flesh." He wiped his hands on a rag and came over. "Still got that death stare when you're riding, I see."
"I wasn't—"
"Don't deny it. I've seen you pass guys twice your size like they were standing still." He glanced at Asher, then back at me. "This guy is your new pit crew?"
Asher raised an eyebrow. "Something like that."
Timo chuckled, giving me a knowing look. "Well, good to see you breathing and in one piece. Need me to tune her up?"
"Just a quick check," I said, handing him the bike.
As Timo rolled it onto the stand, he kept up a stream of banter — about old races, about a guy named Vince who once tried to block me on a corner and ended up eating dirt. I found myself smiling despite the knot in my stomach.
When we left, the sun was sliding lower, shadows stretching long across the road. Back at camp, the fire was already going, its smoke curling into the evening sky.
I sat across from Asher, letting the warmth seep into my hands. The sound of the waves was a steady background hum.
He stared into the flames for a while before speaking. "I never told you about my family."
I looked up, caught off guard by the sudden shift.
"My mom died when I was ten," he said quietly. "Car accident. After that, it was just me and my dad. He taught me bikes, taught me how to keep moving no matter what."
His voice faltered, and the firelight flickered over his face, carving shadows into the lines around his mouth.
"He died two years ago. Cancer. Fast." He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the flames. "I thought I was prepared, but… you can't be. Not for that kind of silence."
The words hung there, heavy in the cool air.
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice low.
He met my eyes, and for a second the usual walls he kept up weren't there. There was raw grief in his expression, but also something else — a quiet kind of understanding.
"Guess that's why I notice it in you," he said. "That weight you carry."
I looked away, pretending to adjust the wood in the fire. "Not the same."
"No," he agreed softly. "But it leaves the same kind of scars."
We sat in silence after that, the fire popping now and then. The scent of smoke clung to my hair, mixing with the faint salt in the air. Somewhere down the beach, a couple laughed, their voices drifting in and out with the wind.
By the time I crawled into my tent, the night had gone still. My bag was slumped in the corner, half-zipped. I was reaching for my blanket when I heard it — a faint buzz.
My stomach tightened.
I pulled the bag closer and unzipped it slowly. The light from my old phone lit up the inside like a small, accusing eye.
The screen flashed: Unknown Number.
A message slid into view.
'You can't hide forever Aliyah'
The words seemed to burn into me.
I stared at the phone until the light dimmed, the darkness of the tent pressing in around me.