Then the crowd shifted. A low murmur rippled through the assembled racers and hangers-on. Engines idled, voices dropped.

The car stopped at the edge of the lot. It didn’t park. It just sat there, engine humming low, like a held breath.

Somewhere in the silence, the race line was being drawn. But every pair of eyes in that lot—including three Slytherin princes and one dark heir—had already forgotten who was actually supposed to be racing.