Alaric
The words Nico had said kept resounding in my head. They looped relentlessly, long after we had reached the villa, been shown to our respective rooms, and Nico had been pulled away by his uncle for a quick, hushed chat in the study.
We have met many times before that, Alaric. You just never paid enough attention to notice.
Where the hell had we met? It wasn't as if I made a habit of remembering every single fan or lower-formula driver I crossed paths with over the years. But the specific, knowing way Nico had said it made it sound personal. Like he desperately wanted me to remember a fractured piece of the past, but no matter how hard I clawed at my brain, I couldn't figure out the where or the when.
Think, Alaric. Try to remember anyone who had a close interaction with you before the accident.
