The hybrid engine screamed, a violent surge of electrical and internal combustion power that pinned Elias into his carbon-fiber throne. The world narrowed to the width of his headlights. Left four, into tight hairpin right, don't cut.

"Clean," Marcus barked, his voice a steady anchor in the chaos. "Five flat out, over crest, into finish."

Midway through the stage, they hit the "skating rink." The back end of the Toyota stepped out, yearning for the ravine. Elias didn’t brake—braking was an invitation to gravity. He stayed on the throttle, the studded tires clawing at the frozen edge of the world. The car straightened with a sickening jolt, missing a stone wall by centimeters.

He rolled the car into the neutralization zone and finally looked up at the mountains. The Monte had spared them for one more stage, but the Alps always had the last word. Should we continue the rally into the , or