Ryder
The championship grounds sprawled out across a converted industrial complex an hour outside the city, temporary bleachers and vendor stalls transforming what was otherwise an unremarkable stretch of pavement into something that buzzed with the particular electric tension of serious competition. I'd raced here myself, years ago, before the presidency demanded more of my time than personal glory ever could. Watching it now, from the sidelines instead of the saddle, felt strange in ways I hadn't fully anticipated.
Zoe stood beside me at the edge of our pit area, running through the bike's final checks with steady, focused hands, none of the nervous energy I might have expected from someone about to compete at this level for the first time.
"You good?" I asked, watching her double-che
