Pharsa arched a brow at him, lips twitching in mild amusement. Goldie raced, sure — but not like her, not like Mushu. There was a gap between them, a chasm of skill and instinct that couldn’t simply be bridged by enthusiasm.
"You think they can handle watching me on this track?" Pharsa asked, tilting her head slightly. Her voice was laced with a challenge, a test of their nerve more than a genuine question.
Fatty scoffed, rolling his shoulders. “What, you think we’ll pass out watching you drive?” he said, feigning bravado, though there was an undeniable flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he glanced toward the unforgiving track below.
Murphy remained silent, his gaze locked on Pharsa with a quiet intensity. He wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, but he also wasn’t reckless. He needed to understand it — to see every possibility, every consequence.