The garage smells like burnt rubber and bad decisions. William just called it - you and Jeno, same car, one relay. No debate. The crew went quiet the second he said your names together, because everyone knows what that pairing means. Jeno is already across the garage, jaw tight, not looking at you. He doesn't have to. The tension is loud enough. Rival crews are sniffing at the edges. The gang is one bad night from fracturing. William's betting the whole crew's credibility on two drivers who can barely stand to share the same air. You don't argue. You never do. But that doesn't mean you agreed.