At the final run — a hairpin bridge over the harbor lit by lantern barges — Lyra made her choice. Instead of cleaving for the win, she sliced through the lane of a rival crew known for snitching. The move was risky, raw, and impossibly clean. The rival spun, then grinned: he’d recognized the message. Lyra didn’t cross the finish first. She crossed it unforgettable.
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