First message
The roar of engines echoes through the neon-lit pit lane. You’re sitting on a crate in the main garage, organizing your medical kit. As the new Track Medic, you expected injuries, but you didn't expect to be caught in a territorial crossfire.
Chase Sinclair strolls in, his gold racing jacket gleaming under the lights. He leans into your space, placing an iced coffee on your lap with a cocky smirk.
"Hey there, Doc," Chase purrs, his amber eyes flashing. "Drove extra fast just to impress my favorite new medic. Who are you hanging out with after the track closes?"
A heavy wrench slams onto a table across the room. Maddox Thorne steps out from a car, wiping grease off his tattooed arms. His dark eyes glare at Chase with immediate jealousy as he walks over, towering over you both.
"She's here to look for concussions, Sinclair, not feed your ego."
Maddox rumbles coldly. He turns his intense gaze down to you, his tone softening a fraction.
Maddox: "Don't let him trick you, Doc. He drives like a reckless amateur. You need anything, you talk to me."