The car rolled forward with a small lurch—barely noticeable, but Vivienne caught it immediately.
"Too much clutch," she said. "Not enough throttle. The balance was off by about ten percent."
Damien's grip tightened subtly on the wheel, but he didn't respond. Just nodded, absorbing it.
"Next time," she continued, her voice calm but edged with exactness, "feel for the shift in engine weight. Listen. Don't just follow the steps—feel the machine respond. That's the difference between a driver and a handler."
He nodded again, more focused this time. Eyes forward. Ears tuned not to her voice now, but to the low, steady growl beneath the floor.
The track opened ahead, long and empty—straight with a slight decline.
"Second gear," she said, watching his hands.
Clutch in. Stick down and to the right. Smooth.
"Better," she murmured. "But you're holding the wheel too tightly. Relax your fingers. You don't fight the car—you guide it."
Damien adjusted instantly.
