The air in the warehouse crackled with a new, volatile energy. We were no longer just drivers and a mechanic. We were a cell. A rogue operation. The weight of betraying Harrison's plan was a stone in my gut, but Rostova's cold logic was inescapable. The club had leaks. This was the only way.
"First order," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "We travel light. Ditch anything that can be tracked. Rostova, your comms, your datapad—anything IA issued. They're compromised."
Rostova didn't hesitate. She pulled a standard-issue Enviro-Police comm unit and her department datapad from her tactical vest. She placed them on the concrete floor, drew a compact energy pistol from a hidden holster, and fired two precise shots.
PZZZT-CRACK!
The devices erupted in a shower of sparks and molten plastic. The smell of ozone and cooked circuitry filled the air.
"Satisfied?" she asked, holstering the pistol.
"For now," Chloe said, her arms still crossed. She was the hardest sell, her trust in Rostova non-existent. "We're really taking her through the Gorge? In the Supra? It's a tight fit on the sims. In reality, with a passenger…"
"We don't have a choice," I said, running a hand over the Supra's roof. "It's the only way."
We spent the next hour in a frantic, silent flurry of final prep. We loaded the Supra with extra fuel cans, the radar detector, and the signal jammer. Rostova used a burner datapad to upload the detailed topography of the Apex Canyon Gorge into our standalone nav system. The route was a terrifying, jagged red line snaking through a labyrinth of rock.
"The gorge is 22 kilometers long," Rostova explained, pointing at the screen. "The narrowest point, 'The Needle's Eye,' is 2.3 meters wide. The Supra is 1.79 meters wide. You'll have 25.5 centimeters of clearance on either side. Do not sneeze."
My palms were sweating. I wiped them on my jeans.
"The surface is loose shale and rock. Traction will be minimal. There will be no room for error. No room for a drift." She looked at me, her expression unreadable. "This will require precision, not power. Can you do that?"
I thought of my wild, exhilarating drift in the Levin. This was the opposite. This was a surgeon's scalpel, not a samurai's sword.
"I can do it," I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt.
"Good. We leave now. The IA drone net goes active in four hours. We need to be deep in the gorge before then."
We rolled the Supra out of the warehouse, leaving the broken door and our old lives behind. The night was our ally, a blanket of stars our only witness. I took the driver's seat, Chloe rode shotgun, and Rostova, a bizarre and unsettling presence, folded herself into the small rear storage area, her datapad glowing in the dark.
I turned the key.
VRRROOOOM-POP-POP!
The roar was a declaration of war in the silent night. I eased the clutch out, and we slipped onto the road, heading east, away from the city's glow and into the consuming darkness of the desert.
For an hour, we drove in silence, the Supra eating up the empty highway. Then, Rostova's voice came from the back, calm and instructional.
"Exit here. Off-road. Now."
I turned onto a dirt track that quickly disintegrated into nothing. The Supra, built for asphalt, bucked and jolted over the rugged terrain, its suspension groaning in protest. We were navigating by stars and the glowing line on our nav screen.
Finally, we saw it. A black tear in the earth, visible only as a deeper darkness against the night sky. The entrance to Apex Canyon Gorge.
I stopped the car at the edge. The chasm yawned before us, a sheer drop into nothingness. A cold, dry wind whistled up from the depths, carrying the scent of ancient stone and dust.
"This is it," Chloe whispered, her voice tight.
I took a deep breath. "Everyone, buckle up tight."
I put the Supra in first gear and inched forward. The headlights stabbed into the void, illuminating a steep, treacherous slope of loose rock leading down into the canyon. This was the easy part.
Descent: BEGIN.
I feathered the brake and clutch, controlling our slide down the unstable surface. Rocks clattered and bounced under the chassis. The sound was deafening in the narrow space. We reached the bottom, the Supra settling on the dry, rocky floor of the gorge.
The world changed. The sky was now a thin, star-dusted ribbon far above. The walls of rust-colored rock pressed in on us, so close I could have reached out and touched them. The headlights illuminated a twisting, claustrophobic tunnel.
"Go," Rostova commanded. "And keep your speed steady. Too slow, and we get stuck. Too fast, and we lose control."
I nudged the throttle. The Supra's rumble echoed off the walls, a continuous, rolling thunder that felt like it would bring the whole canyon down on our heads.
We navigated the first few turns, the path winding like a snake. The suspension worked overtime, absorbing the brutal bumps and ruts. The steering wheel fought in my hands, alive with the feedback from the treacherous surface.
Speed: 40 KM/H.
It felt like 200. Every scrape of gravel against the undercarriage made me flinch. Every narrow squeeze between two rock faces made me hold my breath.
"The Needle's Eye is 500 meters ahead," Rostova announced. "Prepare."
The gorge narrowed, the walls seeming to lean in, hungry. The path ahead was barely visible, a slit of darkness.
"Kaito," Chloe said, her voice low and focused. "Look at the gap, not the walls. Your hands will follow your eyes."
I fixed my gaze on the center of the opening. My knuckles were white on the wheel. The Supra's wide body, once a symbol of aggressive power, now felt impossibly bloated.
We entered the pass.
SCREEEEEECH—
The sound of metal scraping against rock. A shower of sparks erupted from the passenger side mirror as it was sheared clean off. Chloe winced.
"Ignore it!" Rostova barked. "Eyes forward!"
I didn't dare look. I focused on the thin strip of path ahead, my hands making micro-adjustments. The rock walls were so close I could see the individual strata. It felt like driving through a tomb.
And then, we were through. The gorge widened slightly, the pressure in my chest easing by a fraction.
"Clear," Rostova said, a note of what might have been relief in her voice. "Now, accelerate. We've lost time."
I pushed the throttle, the Supra lurching forward over the uneven ground. We had survived the first major obstacle.
We drove for another twenty minutes, the gorge twisting and turning, a natural labyrinth. The tension was a live wire in the car. We were making good time.
Then, Chloe pointed upwards. "Hey. What's that?"
A small, dark shape was silhouetted against the starry ribbon of sky, moving against the wind. A drone. But not an IA model. This one was smaller, sleeker. Private.
"It's a scout," Rostova said, her voice sharp. "Julian. He uses them to map new routes. He must have guessed we'd deviate from the plan."
The drone dipped lower, its camera lens glinting in our headlights. It was tracking us.
"If he knows, IA might know soon," Chloe said, her face grim.
As if on cue, Rostova's burner datapad chimed an alert. She stared at it, her face hardening. "They know. IA has diverted a rapid-response team. They're not coming into the gorge. They're setting up a blockade at the only viable exit point: Serpent's Pass."
She zoomed out on the map. The gorge ended in a steep, winding climb that opened onto a wide plateau. Serpent's Pass was the only way out for a car. It was a perfect choke point.
"They'll have heavy interceptors, grapplers, the works," Rostova said. "We're driving straight into a wall."
The hope that had begun to bloom in my chest withered and died. We were trapped. The gorge was a dead end.
"There has to be another way out," I said, desperation creeping into my voice.
Rostova studied the map, her finger tracing lines. "There is one other topographical feature. But it's not a road." She looked up, her wintery eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. "It's a ramp."
She highlighted a section of the gorge wall. It was a natural, steeply inclined slab of rock, worn smooth by millennia of water runoff, leading up to the plateau at a punishing angle.
"The Anvil," Chloe breathed, her face pale. "You can't be serious. No one has ever made that jump. It's a 50-meter climb at a 40-degree angle. You'd need… you'd need a rocket."
"We have a twin-turbocharged one," Rostova replied, her voice chillingly matter-of-fact. "It's the only way. The pass is blocked. It's The Anvil, or it's a cell."
I looked at the map, at the terrifying line she had drawn. It was insanity. A jump that belonged in a cheap action movie.
But then, I looked at the Supra. I felt the potent energy of its engine thrumming through the chassis. I remembered the feeling of being shoved back into my seat. The raw, untamed power.
Harrison had asked if I was ready to lead. To be unpredictable.
This was the ultimate pressure point.
I met Rostova's gaze in the mirror.
"Plot the course to The Anvil," I said.
The ghost was awake. And it was time to fly.