Chasing the Fading Light
I looked down at a profile, verified, hundreds of thousands of followers, and at the top of it, in bold beneath a photo I recognized instantly:
Rowan Archer.
Grand Prix driver. Second in the championship standings. There were articles about his race results, sponsorship deals, and one from three days ago asking who the mystery woman was that he’d recently been seen with.
I stared at the screen, my phone still in my hand, as everything from lunch came rushing back. It all clicked into place at once. A puzzle I hadn’t even realized I was putting together until suddenly, somehow, I had the whole picture.
"Lav?" Jennifer's voice sounded very far away. "Say something."