It was the only lullaby he needed.
He didn't drive anymore. But every car that screamed down the virtual Stelvio Pass, every perfect drift at Suzuka, every sunset lap at Laguna Seca—that was his engine. He was the key that turned the chaos into a symphony.
Marco closed his laptop. He walked to his garage, where a real, dusty, non-functioning 1987 Alfa Romeo 75 sat on jack stands. He ran a hand over its cold fender.
He watched the Discord channel explode: "Il Chiave fixed the F2004!" "The Nordshleife finally has working AI!" "This man is a saint."
