Chapter 24
Lyra's POV
Over the next few days, I showed up at the racing venue every night.
My performance on the first night had earned me some recognition, but to truly reintegrate into this circle, I needed more proof.
I kept racing, honing skills that had grown rusty over three years in race after race.
Sometimes I placed third, sometimes fourth, occasionally getting lucky enough to secure second place, but I never managed to claim first.
For me, though, consistently placing in the top five was enough—it proved I had the skills without drawing too much attention.
Gradually, the racers began to approach me on their own.
After races ended, they would invite me to drink with them, sharing their stories in the corners of abandoned factories.
Some asked where I came from, why they'd never seen me before. I only gave vague answers, saying I'd been away from the circuit for a long time and wanted to come back.
They didn't press further. The unwritten rule of the underground racing circuit was not to ask too many questions.
Everyone had their own secrets, pasts they didn't want to discuss. As long as you had the skills and followed the rules, nothing else mattered.
One night, a week later, the race ended as usual.
I rode my motorcycle back to the parking area.
Just as I was about to leave, I inadvertently overheard two racers talking in low voices in a corner.
"...heard Nightfall's price went up again recently," one of them said, voice barely above a whisper. "Those people dealing in this stuff are getting greedier and greedier."
My heart lurched.
Nightfall.
I pretended to walk past casually, feigning interest in checking my motorcycle's tires, but my ears were alert, carefully catching every word of their conversation.
"You're telling me," the other one agreed. "Supposedly on the black market now, one dose costs five thousand dollars—double what it was last year. Who knows what kind of lunatic would buy that stuff."
"Shh, keep it down," the first one said, looking around warily. "This isn't something we should be discussing. If someone..."
His words cut off abruptly because I had already walked up to them.
Both men jumped, instinctively taking a step back.
When they saw it was me, they relaxed, one even managing an embarrassed smile.
"Lyra, it's you," one of the racers quickly explained. "We were just chatting randomly. We've definitely never touched that stuff."
I nodded, not showing excessive interest, only asking with feigned curiosity, "I think I just heard you mention Nightfall? What is that?"
The two exchanged glances, hesitating about whether to answer.
Finally, the older of the two racers looked around, confirmed no one else was nearby, and pulled me to a more secluded corner.
"Lyra, since you asked, I'll tell you," he said in a hushed tone, "but you have to promise these words stay buried in your stomach. Absolutely cannot spread them."
"I promise," I answered.
He nodded and continued, "Nightfall is a poison specifically targeting werewolves, a banned drug on the black market."
"They say it can suppress a werewolf's power, make them weak, even... even cause death. This stuff circulates in the underground world, but very few people actually dare touch it because it's too dangerous."
"How do you know about it?" I pressed, maintaining a puzzled demeanor.
"Heard it from someone," the other racer chimed in. "Among us racers, there's a black market information broker who knows everything. His racing skills are first-rate too—he's been mixing in various underground racing events for years. The information about Nightfall leaked from him."
My breathing quickened slightly.
An information broker—exactly what I urgently needed right now.
"What's his name?" I tried to make my tone sound like casual inquiry. "I mean, since he's also a racer, I should have seen him, right?"
The two exchanged glances again, clearly hesitating about whether to tell me.
Finally, they made up their minds.
"Seeing as you're one of us in this circle, I'll tell you," the older racer said, "but don't say we told you."
"And that guy has a weird temper—he doesn't answer just anyone who asks. If you want to pry something out of him, it depends on his mood."
"I understand," I said seriously. "I'm just curious. I won't spread this information."
He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled business card, handing it to me.
"His name is Vex. He usually works at a modification shop in the South District. But if you want to find him, you're better off trying your luck at the racetrack. He doesn't show up at every race—only appears during major events."
I took the card. It had only a simple name on it, no phone number.
This low-profile style indeed fit the image of a black market information broker.
"Thank you both," I said sincerely. "I'll remember this favor."
"Don't mention it," the racer waved his hand. "But Lyra, I have to warn you—something like Nightfall, it's best not to touch. That's not something people like us can afford to mess with."
I nodded, saying nothing more.
They didn't know—I didn't want to buy Nightfall. I wanted to find Nightfall's complete supply chain, to track down the leads to whoever harmed my mother and my people.
A few days later, I heard that Chicago's underground racing circuit was about to hold an illegal mountain road race.
This was the most elite event in the circuit, with a course on a winding mountain road on the city outskirts—twenty kilometers total, with over fifty curves, extremely dangerous.
But precisely because of the danger, this race attracted all the top racers in the area—including Vex.
I began preparing for this race.
Every night, I practiced on empty roads, familiarizing myself with the bike's performance, sharpening my skills.
The physical injuries had mostly healed. Though scars remained, at least they no longer affected my movements.
On the day of the mountain road race, the venue gathered hundreds of motorcycles and modified cars, the roar of engines deafening.
I searched through the crowd and finally found someone matching the description near the starting line.
He wore an all-black riding suit with a red skull emblem on his helmet, checking over his motorcycle.
I walked over and got straight to the point. "Vex?"
He looked up, studying me through his helmet's visor, eyes assessing. "Who are you?"
"Lyra. I want to buy some information from you."
He looked me up and down, then said with a half-smile, "Information? About what?"
"Nightfall."
His movements paused, then he slowly stood up. "Interesting. A new face, actually interested in Nightfall."
He fell silent for two seconds, then made an offer. "Race me. If you beat me, I can help you investigate any information you want. Lose, and don't come looking for me again, and stop asking about Nightfall."
I looked at him without a moment's hesitation. "Deal."
He laughed, that kind of laughter carrying the excitement of someone who'd found prey.
"Good. Then let me see if you're actually qualified to know those secrets."
The race's signal gun was about to fire. I put on my helmet and started the engine.
Now, this was no longer just a race—this was a crucial step toward the truth.
I had to win.