Dom didn't raise his voice, didn't announce a verdict, didn't do anything dramatic.
He simply treated the Supra the way he treated every unknown variable in his world: he put it under stress and watched what broke.
The car sat on the lift with its belly exposed, shop lights catching clean metal and tidy routing that didn't match the age stamped on the chassis. Letty moved around it with a mechanic's patience, checking mounts, lines, clamps—looking for the shortcuts people took when they wanted results but didn't have discipline.
She didn't find shortcuts.
Mia stood at the workbench with a clipboard, writing down numbers Dom called out without looking at her. Vince drifted close enough to be in the conversation, far enough to pretend he wasn't listening too hard. Brian hovered a little farther back, arms crossed, eyes sharp, wearing casual like it was a costume he hadn't quite broken in yet.
Jacob tried to stand like a customer.
He leaned against a tool chest, hands in his pockets, face relaxed, smile ready.
But his chest felt too tight, and every time Letty's wrench paused or Dom's brow shifted, Jacob felt it like a tug on an invisible thread tied to his ribs.
Because the Supra wasn't supposed to be this much.
It had been a "beginner package." A cover. A normal life.
The system had called it normalcy.
Dom made normalcy into a lie with a handful of tests.
First came the basics—idle stability, throttle response, vacuum, fuel. The kind of checks that made the shop feel routine again. Jacob let his breath out in small pieces, trying to convince his nervous system that this was fine.
Then Dom nodded toward Letty.
"Drop it," he said.
Letty lowered the lift.
The Supra rolled forward off the platform and settled on the concrete with a quiet confidence, like it didn't weigh any more than it should.
Dom slid into the driver's seat. Letty took passenger again. Mia and Vince and Brian watched from the bay opening, the sun behind them making their silhouettes sharp.
Dom started it.
The engine note was smooth—too smooth—then deepened when Dom blipped the throttle. The response was instant, clean, like the car didn't have to think about what Dom asked of it.
Dom's head tilted slightly, listening.
Letty shot him a quick look that said she'd heard it too.
Dom eased out into the street.
He didn't go far at first. A slow roll, a gentle sweep, testing the clutch, the engagement, the bite. Then he turned at the corner and came back toward the long industrial stretch behind the shop—straight, open enough to let a car speak.
Jacob watched the Supra disappear and felt a sick pang of pride that turned immediately into fear.
He told himself he hadn't done anything wrong.
He told himself he was just a "starting mechanic" who wanted a second opinion.
He told himself he wasn't a liar.
But his life had already become a stack of half-truths, and half-truths always wanted to topple.
Minutes stretched.
The shop returned to its noise. A radio played low. Tools clinked. Mia tried to keep the atmosphere light, but her eyes kept darting toward the street.
Vince found a reason to stand near her shoulder.
Brian found a reason to stand near the counter.
Jacob found a reason to ask Mia a question about nothing.
"So," Jacob had said, casual, "you always this busy?"
Mia had smiled, distracted. "We stay busy."
Vince had leaned in, smug. "That's 'cause we're good."
Brian had taken a sip of coffee that had gone lukewarm. "Or because you don't let customers breathe."
Vince had shot him a look. "You got jokes."
Jacob had watched them, amused and wary, and for a moment the rivalry had felt almost harmless—three men circling the same light like moths, each pretending the heat didn't matter.
Then the Supra came back.
The sound reached them first—a clean, rising howl that didn't belong to a late-90s street car with "some tweaks."
It climbed fast, smooth, relentless, and it made the hairs on Jacob's arms lift.
Dom rolled into view and parked with controlled precision, but the way the car settled—like it had more torque than it should, like it wanted to leap forward even at idle—made the whole bay feel tense.
Dom killed the engine.
He got out slowly, rag already in his hand as if he needed something to do with it.
Letty stepped out too, and she didn't bother hiding her reaction.
"What the hell," she muttered, half laughter, half warning.
Mia's eyes widened. "What?"
Dom didn't answer immediately. He walked around the front of the Supra like he was circling an animal that had pretended to be tame.
Then he looked at Jacob.
Not accusing.
Not friendly.
Measuring.
"You said you did basic upgrades," Dom said.
Jacob's throat went dry. He forced a small laugh. "That's what they were."
Letty shook her head. "No."
Jacob tried to keep his face smooth. "It's a Supra. They respond well."
Dom's gaze stayed steady. "That car pulled like it had no ceiling."
Mia took a step forward, eyes bright with curiosity and concern. "How much power are we talking?"
Dom finally exhaled, slow. "More than you think."
Letty folded her arms. "Way more."
Vince's interest sharpened instantly—greed disguised as admiration. "C'mon, Dom. Numbers."
Dom's eyes never left Jacob. "It's not just power," he said. "It's how it delivers. No lag where there should be. No falloff. It's… too smooth."
Jacob felt that word—smooth—like a blade.
Smooth was the giveaway. Smooth was what the system did. It didn't tune like people tuned. It optimized.
Jacob shrugged, careful. "Maybe I got lucky."
Dom's mouth twitched—not a smile. Something closer to a decision.
"You didn't get lucky," Dom said quietly. "You got help."
Jacob held Dom's gaze and let the smallest amount of vulnerability show—the kind that made him seem human, not mythical.
"I've been… learning," Jacob said. "Trying things. Reading. Testing."
Dom studied him for a long beat, then glanced toward the shop, toward the clutter of tools and the grease-stained life of it, toward the world he understood.
When he spoke again, his voice carried less edge.
"You're not the guy from the freeway," Dom said.
The sentence landed like a weight falling off a shelf.
Jacob's heart stuttered, and he had to clamp down on the relief before it showed too strongly. He let his shoulders loosen as if he'd been offended by the idea.
"Wanted?" Jacob said, careful to sound like he'd heard the name the way everyone had heard it. "No. I'm not—"
Dom held up a hand, stopping him. "Not you."
Letty's eyes narrowed, but she didn't argue.
Dom's gaze stayed on Jacob. "But you might be the guy who keeps him running."
Jacob managed a faint smile. "That's a big assumption."
Dom's voice stayed even. "I'm not assuming. I'm listening to the car."
Mia looked between them, confused. "Dom… what are you saying?"
Dom didn't look away from Jacob. "I'm saying this kind of work doesn't come from nothing. Somebody built something. Somebody knows something."
Brian's posture shifted—subtle, but Jacob saw it. Brian's eyes sharpened the way they did when a conversation turned into a lead.
Vince scoffed, trying to sound unimpressed. "You really think Wanted's got a mechanic?"
Dom finally glanced at Vince. The look was brief and heavy. "Everybody's got a mechanic."
That shut Vince up for half a second.
Dom stepped closer to Jacob, lowering his voice without making it private enough to be secret. "You got clients?" he asked.
Jacob felt every eye on him—Dom's, Letty's, Mia's, Vince's, Brian's—and in that moment he understood something with cold clarity:
This wasn't just about the Supra anymore.
This was about access.
Dom didn't care about myth for myth's sake. Dom cared about the network behind it.
Jacob swallowed and chose his words like he was choosing a line through traffic.
"A couple," he said lightly. "One or two."
Mia's eyebrows lifted. "Already?"
Jacob forced a shrug, modest. "Nothing serious."
Dom's gaze didn't soften, but it shifted—calculating. "People came to you."
Jacob nodded. "Yeah. Word travels."
Letty watched him like she was trying to see through his skin.
Brian watched him like he was trying to see through time.
Vince watched him like he was deciding whether to hate him or use him.
And Mia… Mia just watched him like he was a person, not a puzzle, which was somehow the most dangerous thing in the room.
Dom nodded once, as if filing the answer away. "We'll talk," he said. Not a question. A future.
Jacob's mouth went dry. "Sure," he managed.
Then the TV in the office corner burst into noise.
It hadn't been on a minute ago. No one had touched it.
But now it flickered with a bright, jittery broadcast—local news, the kind that always sounded too excited about other people's pain. The audio spilled out into the shop, grabbing attention the way sirens did.
"…breaking update—another apparent street racing incident—witnesses say the driver attempted to imitate the infamous 'Wanted' maneuver—"
Jacob froze so hard it felt like his muscles locked.
Mia turned toward the screen. "What?"
Letty swore under her breath, already moving toward the office.
Dom's jaw tightened.
Brian moved too, calm on the outside, the cop inside him snapping awake.
They crowded near the TV as the footage switched to shaky camcorder video—grainy, handheld, taken from across a parking lot. A small crowd. A car revving. Someone yelling, laughter, then—
The car spun too fast.
It clipped a curb and launched sideways into a parked vehicle. Metal folded. Glass burst. The crowd scattered. Someone screamed—a real scream, not excited.
The anchor's voice cut in over the chaos, bright with practiced concern.
"…authorities are urging motorists to avoid imitating the so-called 'Wanted' driver—reports indicate multiple copycat attempts—some ending in serious injury—"
Jacob's stomach dropped.
On screen, an ambulance's lights flashed. People stood with hands on heads. A crumpled hood steamed.
The anchor continued, voice sharpening.
"—and police say they are increasing patrols in areas known for illegal street racing—"
Dom's eyes narrowed, watching the wreckage like it was a warning directed at him personally.
Letty's expression hardened. "Idiots," she muttered.
Mia's hand rose to her mouth, eyes wide. "That's—someone could've died."
Vince scoffed, but there was less swagger in it now. "People are stupid."
Brian didn't speak. He watched the screen with a tightness around his mouth that looked like anger and worry braided together. The crackdown meant more cops, more pressure, more heat—bad for his cover, worse for Dom's people, and potentially good for the department if it forced the street scene to cough up a lead.
Jacob felt sick.
He had posted the POV. He had fed the myth. He had told himself it was just narrative control.
Now he watched the myth hurt someone who'd never even met him.
He forced himself to breathe. He forced his face to stay neutral. He forced the guilt down where no one could see it.
But Dom's voice cut through the TV noise, low and dangerous.
"That ghost is going to get people killed," Dom said.
Jacob's chest tightened.
Because Dom was right.
And the worst part was that Jacob wasn't sure whether Dom meant the copycats…
…or the real driver they all believed was still out there, unseen, untouched, unnamed—Wanted—moving through Los Angeles like a story that refused to end cleanly.
Dom turned away from the screen and looked back at Jacob.
Not accusing.
Not yet.
But with new weight in his gaze, as if the world had just handed him another reason to keep pulling on the thread.
"You said you got clients," Dom said quietly.
Jacob's mouth went dry.
"Yeah," Jacob managed. "One or two."
Dom nodded once, slow. "Then you know how fast things spread."
Jacob couldn't answer without giving himself away, so he just held Dom's gaze and let silence do the work.
Outside, the late-day sun dipped lower, and the shop's shadows lengthened.
Inside, the rivalry around Mia kept simmering, but it felt smaller now—overshadowed by the TV's flashing lights, by the weight of consequences, by the feeling that something in the city had shifted.
The ghost named Wanted wasn't just a spectacle anymore.
He was becoming a problem.
And Jacob Cooper—standing in Dom Toretto's shop, smiling carefully, hiding the truth behind his teeth—felt the trap tighten in a way speed had never managed to do.
...
After the copycat crash footage looped on the TV, the shop didn't go back to normal.
It couldn't.
Even when the anchor's voice moved on to the next story, even when the picture cut to weather and traffic, the wreck stayed in the air like the smell of burnt rubber—an invisible reminder that myths didn't just entertain, they infected.
Mia turned the volume down and set the remote aside with a tightness in her jaw that had nothing to do with customer service.
Dom said nothing more about it, but the way his gaze drifted toward the open bay doors—toward the street, toward the city—told everyone he was already calculating how this new pressure would hit their world.
And in the middle of it, the rivalry around Mia shifted.
It stopped being a casual, petty orbit.
It became strategy.
Vince moved closer, possessive familiarity sharpened into a kind of performance. He found reasons to touch the counter near Mia's hand, to speak low, to remind her—I've always been here. He laughed too loudly at his own jokes. He made comments meant to land like inside references, like shared history.
Brian adjusted without meaning to.
He didn't push in physically the way Vince did. He did it with competence—offering to carry a heavy box without being asked, fetching a tool for Letty with quick precision, asking Mia a question about the shop that made it seem like he cared about the place itself. He was building the image of someone dependable, someone who didn't need to claw for attention because he had patience.
Jacob watched both of them and felt the shape of the game.
If he competed the way Vince competed, he'd look like an outsider trying too hard.
If he competed the way Brian competed, he'd look like he had something to prove.
So Jacob did the only thing he could do without exposing himself:
He competed with truths that weren't dangerous.
He asked Mia about her day—not to pry, but to listen. He remembered the small things she said and brought them back later, the way you did when you wanted to show a person they mattered beyond the moment. He kept his flirting soft, threaded with humor, never trapping her. He made her smile and then backed off, leaving space.
It was subtle.
But it worked.
Mia didn't lean toward him.
She didn't lean toward Brian either.
She leaned away from Vince.
And Vince felt it.
Jacob could see it in the way Vince's eyes tracked every exchange like he was counting points. Brian saw it too, but Brian's reaction was quieter—his jaw tightening just slightly, his posture stiffening when Jacob made Mia laugh and then stepped away like he didn't care.
The worst part—what made it truly strategic—was that all three of them understood something without saying it:
Mia wasn't just Mia.
Mia was access.
In Dom Toretto's world, being close to Mia meant being close to the gravity at the center of the shop. It meant being seen, evaluated, trusted—or rejected.
Dom didn't need to say it. The shop itself did.
Dom stood near the Supra again, wiping his hands on a rag that was already black with oil. His face was calm, but his eyes kept sliding back to Jacob, measuring.
Letty leaned against the tool chest and watched Jacob like she watched a driver on the line—waiting for the moment the mask slipped.
Mia returned to the counter, trying to restore a sense of normalcy by doing normal things.
The men kept orbiting her like planets with hidden knives.
Dom finally spoke, and the sound of his voice cut through the tension like a clean shift.
"Jacob."
Jacob's head lifted. "Yeah?"
Dom nodded toward the open bay doors, toward the fading sunlight outside. "You drive?"
The question sounded simple.
It wasn't.
Jacob felt it in his bones. Dom wasn't asking if Jacob knew how to operate a vehicle. Dom was asking if Jacob could hold the line when the world turned into pressure.
Jacob smiled lightly. "I drive."
Dom's gaze stayed steady. "Tonight."
Jacob's stomach tightened. "Tonight?"
Dom wiped his hands again, slow. "There's a run."
Vince straightened, immediately interested. Brian's attention sharpened too, but he kept his face neutral.
Mia looked up from her paperwork, brows slightly raised.
Dom's voice stayed low, like he didn't want the walls to hear it. "Street race. Same place as usual."
Jacob's smile held, but inside he felt a cold ripple.
Dom was inviting him into the center of the story.
And Dom didn't invite strangers by accident.
"I'm not—" Jacob started, then stopped himself. The safest lie would be reluctance. The safest lie would be humility. "I don't really… race like that."
Dom's eyes didn't change. "You drove that car," he said, nodding toward the Supra. "That's racing, whether you call it that or not."
Letty's mouth twitched like she approved of the pressure.
Vince scoffed. "Dom, you really inviting this guy?"
Dom didn't look at Vince. "I'm inviting him."
Brian spoke carefully, trying to keep his tone casual. "It's just a race?"
Dom's eyes flicked to Brian—brief, heavy. "It's never just a race."
Jacob felt Mia watching him—curious, cautious, interested in spite of herself.
He hated how much he wanted to impress her.
He hated more that part of him wanted to say yes because the system inside him would love it—because speed was still the easiest language he knew.
So he nodded once, small.
"Alright," Jacob said. "I'll come."
Dom's gaze held him another beat, as if he were memorizing the way Jacob agreed. Then Dom nodded, satisfied.
"Midnight," Dom said. "Bring the Supra."
Jacob's mouth went dry. "The Supra?"
Dom's eyes sharpened. "Unless you've got something else."
Jacob forced a laugh. "No. Just the Supra."
The lie slid out clean.
Vince watched Jacob like he wanted to punch him.
Brian watched Jacob like he wanted to understand him.
Mia watched Jacob like she wanted to know what he was hiding.
Dom turned away as if the matter was settled.
Jacob realized, with a cold clarity, that he needed to leave.
Not because he was scared of Dom.
Because he was scared of staying long enough to make a mistake.
He stepped back toward the counter and offered Mia a small smile. "Thanks for taking a look," he said. "Seriously."
Mia nodded. "We'll write up what we find."
Jacob glanced at Brian and Vince—two different kinds of threat—and then back to Mia. "See you," he said, letting it land like a promise.
Then he left.
He walked out to the Supra, got in, and pulled away with controlled calm. He didn't peel out. He didn't rev. He drove like a man trying to be forgettable.
But his heart hammered anyway.
Because he could feel it: Dom had put a hook in him.
A race wasn't just a race.
It was a test.
And Jacob Cooper—who was already living two lives—had just agreed to let one of them be weighed in public.
He was barely gone when the trouble arrived.
A black sedan rolled up in front of the shop, clean and quiet. Not a racer's car. Not a cop car. Too smooth, too corporate. It parked with the kind of neatness that made it look out of place.
Two men stepped out.
They didn't swagger like street guys. They didn't carry themselves like uniforms either. They moved like professionals who had been trained to be invisible—and failed only because invisibility still had a style.
They walked into the shop without hesitation.
Mia looked up. "Can I help you?"
The first man smiled politely, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We're looking for Dominic Toretto."
Dom emerged from the back bay like he'd been expecting trouble his whole life. "That's me."
The second man glanced around, eyes scanning cars, tools, faces. He noticed Brian's presence and filed it away. He noticed Vince and ignored him. He noticed Letty and gave her the kind of look men gave women they underestimated.
Then he turned back to Dom.
"We're with a private investigative firm," the first man said. "Retained by BMW."
The air changed.
It wasn't dramatic, but it was immediate—like someone had opened a door to cold weather.
Dom's expression stayed calm. "BMW."
The man nodded, still polite. "A vehicle matching a BMW design profile was involved in a high-speed incident last night. We're asking questions. Quietly."
Letty's eyes narrowed.
Vince bristled. "You cops now?"
The man's smile tightened. "No. And we'd prefer not to involve the police unless necessary."
Brian kept his face neutral, but inside, everything went taut. BMW. Private investigators. Stolen blueprint theory. The thread he'd just heard about at the station had teeth—and now it was standing in front of Dom.
Dom's voice stayed even. "What questions?"
The second man stepped forward slightly. "We're looking for anyone in the local racing community who might have connections to unusual tuning work. High-performance components. Unregistered builds. Prototype-level modifications."
His gaze drifted, casually, toward the bay where the Supra had been.
Mia's hand tightened around her pen.
Dom didn't look toward the bay. He didn't give them the satisfaction. "We fix cars," Dom said. "That's it."
The first man nodded as if he'd expected that. "Of course. We've also been made aware of a… rumor. A nickname. 'Wanted.'"
The word landed like a pebble dropped into deep water.
Ripples moved through the shop.
Mia's face tightened.
Letty's posture sharpened.
Vince looked suddenly excited, like gossip was oxygen.
Dom's eyes remained steady. "Never heard of it."
The investigator smiled again, polite as a knife. "Then you won't mind if we ask around."
Dom's voice dropped half a notch. "You can ask."
The man's gaze slid toward Mia. "Do you recall anyone coming through recently with… unusual work?"
Mia held his gaze, steady. "We get customers."
The investigator's eyes shifted to Letty. "How about you?"
Letty's smile was cold. "I recall you should've called first."
Dom took a step forward—not threatening, just closing distance. "You got your answer," he said.
The investigator's smile didn't move. "We'll be in touch."
Then he added, almost conversationally, "If you happen to remember anything about a blue-and-silver car… or someone supplying parts… BMW would appreciate your cooperation."
Dom didn't blink. "Get out of my shop."
The investigators left as smoothly as they'd come, their sedan gliding away like it had never stopped.
For a moment the shop was quiet except for the hum of fluorescent lights.
Then Vince exhaled sharply. "BMW, man? What the hell?"
Mia looked shaken, but she kept her voice steady. "Dom…"
Dom stared at the street where Jacob had driven off minutes earlier.
Not at the Supra's tail lights.
At the timing.
At the coincidence.
At the feeling in his gut that the city had just placed two puzzles on his table at once: the ghost named Wanted, and a young "starting mechanic" with a too-perfect Supra and work that didn't fit 2001.
Dom's jaw tightened.
Letty watched him. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
Dom didn't answer right away.
Then, quietly, like he was speaking to the shop itself, he said, "He's not Wanted."
He paused.
"But he's close."
And Brian—standing near the counter, pretending to be just a customer while his blood ran cold—realized something that made his mouth go dry:
He had been sent into Dom's orbit to find a ghost.
Now the ghost's shadow had just walked through the front door, smiled at Mia, and driven away before the professionals arrived.
And Brian didn't know whether that was luck…
…or the first sign that "Wanted" was smarter than all of them.
...
The meet started the way rumors became real in Los Angeles—quietly at first, then all at once.
Jacob reached it by following the pulse he'd learned the city carried at night: a line of cars drifting the same direction with too much intention to be coincidence. He kept the Supra calm on the way there, resisting the itch in his foot. Midnight air slid through the cracked window, carrying the smell of asphalt still warm from the day and the faint tang of exhaust that never fully left the city.
He'd told himself he was only going because Dom asked.
Because Dom was testing him.
Because refusing would look suspicious.
But as the industrial blocks gave way to wider, emptier roads and the bass from distant speakers began to throb through the dark like a second heartbeat, Jacob felt the older truth rise up inside him:
He missed this.
Not the danger—though the system in his head loved that part.
He missed the feeling of belonging somewhere that didn't ask about courtrooms, or history, or the parts of you that were broken. Out here the only question that mattered was simple: can you drive?
He turned into the lot and the scene unfolded in headlights and neon.
Cars were arranged in loose rings like a campfire circle. Underbody glow painted the pavement in greens and blues and purples. People leaned on fenders, laughed in clusters, talked with their hands. Somewhere a boom box pushed out bass-heavy music that made the air vibrate. The smell was fuel and sweat and cheap cologne, mixed with the sweetness of spilled soda and beer.
Jacob rolled in slow, letting the Supra announce itself without screaming.
Heads turned.
Not because his car was the flashiest. Not because a 1997 Supra was rare here. But because he was new, and new things always got measured. Eyes tracked his line. The way he parked. The way he stepped out.
Jacob wore a plain jacket, clean sneakers, nothing that screamed money. His face was sharp in the low light, pale eyes reflecting the lot's neon, expression controlled like he'd practiced it in a mirror. He kept his hands visible. Calm posture. No challenge.
He'd learned in one day in this world what had taken him years in the old one: attention was a kind of gravity. If you fought it, you made it heavier.
Jacob walked toward the center of the meet where Dom's presence pulled the crowd into a looser orbit. He found them by instinct more than sight—the way conversations softened as he passed, the way people glanced toward one spot with the subtle respect of a pack acknowledging its alpha.
Dom stood near his Charger, arms crossed, posture relaxed but coiled. Letty was close, leaning against a car with that predator's calm. Vince hovered like a shadow with a grudge, eyes already on Jacob like he'd been waiting to dislike him all day.
And Mia—
Mia was there too, slightly behind Dom, talking to someone with a small smile that made Jacob's chest tighten with a stupid, dangerous warmth.
He forced himself to breathe, to keep his smile casual, to walk like he belonged.
Dom spotted him and nodded once.
A greeting and a test all in one.
Jacob nodded back, kept it modest. "Made it," he said.
"Good," Dom replied. His eyes flicked to the Supra. "You bring it."
Jacob tried to sound light. "Figured that was part of the homework."
Letty's mouth twitched, half amused. Vince rolled his eyes.
Mia looked at Jacob and smiled—small, brief, but real enough to make him forget the chill in the air for a second.
Then the sound of another car cut through the meet—high and sharp, turbo whistle threaded under a purposeful engine note.
A Mitsubishi rolled in, clean and tuned, wearing confidence in its stance. The driver didn't creep into the lot. He entered like he wanted people to notice.
Brian O'Connor parked with more flair than necessary, stepping out with that same controlled composure he wore at the shop—except tonight there was something else underneath it.
Determination.
Like he wasn't just here to watch.
He was here to prove something.
Jacob saw the way Brian's eyes moved—taking in faces, cars, the structure of the meet—then landing on Mia as if she were a compass point. Brian's expression softened for half a heartbeat before he caught himself.
Then he saw Jacob.
The air between them tightened.
Jacob offered a polite nod.
Brian matched it with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Two men playing nice while quietly measuring the other's weight.
Vince brightened at Brian's arrival like he'd found an ally by accident. "Yo," Vince called, stepping toward him. "You actually showed."
Brian shrugged like he didn't care. "Figured I'd see what it's about."
Dom's gaze flicked to Brian, assessing. Not welcoming. Not hostile. Just weighing.
Mia stepped forward slightly, eyes on Brian with that same steady curiosity she'd shown at the shop. "You race?" she asked.
Brian hesitated just a fraction—long enough for Jacob to notice—and then Brian nodded. "Yeah."
Jacob caught the subtle shift in Brian's posture when he said it—like the word meant more than a hobby. Like it was an identity Brian wanted to reclaim.
Jacob felt something unpleasant twist in his gut.
Not because Brian was attractive.
Because Brian was earnest.
And earnestness was harder to compete with than swagger.
Jacob forced his smile back onto Mia. "He's got good timing," Jacob said lightly, as if he didn't care. "Whole city's racing now, apparently."
Mia's expression tightened briefly—copycats, the crash, the crackdown. The joke landed with a shadow.
Before Mia could answer, a voice boomed from the crowd—loud, friendly, carrying the easy confidence of someone who loved being known.
"Dom!"
A man approached with a grin, arms spread, moving through the crowd like he owned the space between people. He wore the kind of clothes that popped under neon—clean, bright, confident. Behind him rolled two cars with his crew, laughter trailing behind them.
Hector.
Jacob recognized him not from memory of his own life, but from the way people reacted—smiles, nods, the ripple of familiarity.
Dom's posture eased a hair. "Hector."
They clasped hands, the greeting half hug, half handshake. Hector's eyes slid over Dom's shoulder and landed on the newcomers.
His gaze paused on Jacob's Supra with immediate interest.
"Ooooh," Hector said, drawing it out. "We got fresh meat tonight."
Jacob kept his face neutral, but his chest tightened. "Fresh meat" was how packs tested strangers.
Dom gestured at Jacob with two fingers. "This is Jacob."
Hector stepped in close, flashing a grin. "Jacob, huh? That your Supra?"
Jacob nodded. "Yeah."
Hector circled him once with his eyes, then the car, like he was reading a story written in paint and stance. "Clean. Too clean. You build it?"
Jacob swallowed. The wrong answer could make him look like a liar. The right answer could make him look like a threat.
"I worked on it," Jacob said carefully. "A little."
Hector's grin widened. "A little? Man, that's always what the fast guys say."
Jacob felt Dom watching him from the side.
Letty too.
Mia as well, curious and cautious.
Jacob kept his smile small. "I'm not claiming I'm fast."
Hector laughed. "Everybody's fast until the line drops."
He snapped his fingers and one of his crew tossed him a bottle of water. Hector took a swig and nodded toward Brian's Mitsubishi.
"And you?" Hector said, pointing. "Mitsubishi boy. You racing or you just here to stare?"
Brian's jaw tightened slightly. "I'm racing."
Hector clapped once, delighted. "Good. I like that. New faces, new money."
Vince inserted himself quickly, stepping between Brian and Jacob like he wanted to control the narrative. "He's with us," Vince said, nodding toward Brian, then jerking his chin toward Jacob as if reluctant to include him. "And that guy's… here."
Hector looked at Vince like Vince was a mosquito that had learned to talk. Then he smiled again, bright and easy. "Everybody's here, homie."
He leaned in toward Jacob, voice dropping half a notch, friendly but sharp. "Word is, you got hands. Dom don't just invite anybody."
Jacob's heart thumped. He forced a casual shrug. "He asked. I showed."
Hector's grin didn't falter, but his eyes flicked up and down Jacob again as if registering details: the calm, the careful speech, the way Jacob didn't puff himself up.
"Alright," Hector said. "Then you're in the air now."
Jacob blinked. "In the air?"
Hector pointed up, laughing. "Everybody's watching, man. That's how it is. You win, you're somebody. You lose, you're still somebody—just somebody we clown."
The crowd laughed.
Jacob's smile held, but his stomach tightened.
He'd lived as Wanted for one night and learned what being watched did.
Tonight, he was being watched as Jacob Cooper.
And the worst part was that the watching felt good, in the sick way attention always did when you'd been starving.
Dom clapped Hector on the shoulder, then looked at Jacob and Brian—both of them standing too straight, pretending they weren't competing.
Dom's voice stayed calm. "You both want to race," he said.
It wasn't a question.
Brian nodded.
Jacob hesitated—just a beat—then nodded too, because backing out now would read like fear.
Mia's eyes moved between them, and Jacob felt the rivalry sharpen again, strategic now: racing wasn't just about pride. It was about where you landed in Dom's world. It was about whether Mia looked at you like you mattered.
Vince smirked like he'd already decided Jacob would fail.
Letty's eyes gleamed like she couldn't wait to see what Jacob really was.
Hector clapped his hands together. "Alright, alright—line 'em up!"
The meet surged with energy. People moved. Cars shifted. Engines revved.
Jacob walked back toward his Supra, feeling the night close around him like a glove.
He kept his face calm.
Kept his steps unhurried.
But inside, his pulse climbed with a familiar, dangerous joy.
Because the line was where masks cracked.
And Jacob Cooper had too many masks to afford even one mistake.