The Race
Cindy’s voice crackled over the line with news Judd had been waiting for. “We’ve got him. Crowder’s holed up outside Chicago—nowhere near your location in Austin.”
Judd exhaled, tension slipping from his shoulders. “That’s a relief.” With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the burner phone into a trash can outside the Driskill Hotel, the device landing with a satisfying clatter. He turned toward Ava, already waiting for him, an easy smile on her face.
They had never been to Austin before, the Live Music Capital of the World. Ava loved the energy, but Judd suspected the city's other nickname—Bat City, thanks to the swarms of Mexican Free-Tailed Bats that erupted from the Congress Avenue Bridge each night—wouldn’t exactly win her over. Their arrival here was no accident. Dr. O, an old high school friend with a skill set that had kept more than one Inkwell Order operative alive, had called to meetup. A surgeon with a knack for fixing bones, digging out shrapnel, and even rearranging faces when necessary, Dr. O usually worked out of Cape Town, South Africa, but this time, he was Stateside.
Ava approached, two steaming cups in hand. “Americano for you. Latte for me.” She had already sniffed out Neighborhood Café, conveniently tucked next to The Dead Rabbit in Austin’s infamous Sixth Street district—her caffeine radar was as reliable as ever.
With danger seemingly behind them, they slipped into an Uber, joining the tidal wave of motorheads swarming Austin for Round 19 of the Formula One World Championship. The Circuit of the Americas wasn’t far, but as they neared the track, the roads snarled into a parking lot of revving engines and honking horns. Judd made the call—“We walk from here.” They bailed out, pushing through the throngs of fans toward the Box Office gate to grab their weekend pass wristbands.
The moment they stepped inside, the sheer roar of engines engulfed them. Judd could almost picture ancient Rome’s Circus Maximus, where charioteers risked life and limb in front of bloodthirsty crowds. Here, modern-day gladiators pushed the limits of engineering and nerve, locked in wheel-to-wheel combat at speeds that defied belief.
Finding Dr. O in the crowd would be a challenge—unless, of course, you were looking for a 6’4” former rugby player with an unruly mop of hair and a grin that could light up the Texas skyline. Judd spotted him instantly.
“Still slow as ever,” Judd called out.
Dr. O smirked. “And you’re still ugly.”.
Ava laughed as the group fell into easy camaraderie, making their way toward Turn 1—Big Red. The 134-foot incline at the start of the race was legendary, a prime spot to witness daring overtakes and brutal late-braking maneuvers. Ava’s eyes lit up a s her favorite driver, Max Verstappen, streaked past in a blur of Red Bull blue.
The Texas heat bore down on them as the Ferrari duo, Leclerc and Sainz, snagged a rare one-two finish, sending the Tifosi fans into a frenzy. Meanwhile, Verstappen was still in prime position to lock in his fourth world championship.
With the race winding down, they grabbed quesadillas and Tlaquepaque-style tacos from a food truck, washing them down with ice-cold lemonade. Dr. O’s Irish friends joined them, laughter echoing over the revving engines and celebratory cheers.
“Let’s not wait another two years to do this,” Dr. O said, clapping Judd on the back.
“Deal,” Judd replied.
As the sun dipped below the Texas horizon, they began the slow trek back to the city, exhaustion settling over them like a comfortable haze.
Ava sighed, stretching out in the car’s seat. “What an incredible day,” she murmured.
Maybe it was the heat, the food, or the post-race adrenaline, but neither she nor Judd noticed the black sedan slipping into traffic behind them.
A sedan with Crowder at the wheel…
