I sit up a little straighter as Cassiopia’s eyes find the camera. Her voice echoes out over scattered applause and cheering. Everything in the room dances with too-bright light.

“Welcome back to our coverage of the Races! The one hundred forty-first year is poised to be the most entertaining one in recent memory. There’s a clear favorite everyone’s chasing.”

Behind her, an image of Pippa appears. She’s leaning over her horse, jaw clenched and hair in a dark braid that drapes over one shoulder. She looks terrifying and beautiful. The graphics frame her like she’s a descended goddess. It’s such blatant favoritism, I almost laugh.

“Who’s hot on Pippa’s heels? There’s the Alchemist, and the Spurned Lover, and Ever-Steady Etzli….” Cassiopia casts a curious look in my direction like she’s just noticed me. “But the casinos and bookies of Furia have pegged someone else as her most likely and looming threat. Ladies and gentlemen of the Empire, meet Adrian Ford.”

A chorus of boos echo out. There’s a little clapping, but the people most willing to drop thousands on a live seat are those who hate me. The thought has me smiling.

“Hear that, Adrian?” Cassiopia asks. “Not exactly a warm welcome to Furia.”

She gestures, cueing my response. I keep the lazy grin and look right into the cameras as I say, “Guess I’ll count myself lucky that fans aren’t what gets any of us to the finish line.”

“That’s true, but are you at least worried the other riders will feel the same way the fans do? Let’s be honest, the Longhands don’t have a great history when it comes to the Races.”

Before I can answer, visuals color the wall behind us. Cassiopia glances back at them.

“The last Longhand winner was nearly eighty-three years ago. Prior to that, no Longhand had successfully placed in the top three. Since the Reach’s failed revolution, there have been three entrants. The first withdrew. The second, as you know, was killed. You are the third.”

They flash the boy’s portrait, then segue to footage of the brutal attack. It’s hard to watch as the three Ashlord riders circle, as he falls to his knees, as they don’t stop swinging their wooden switches. It is the fate the Empire predicts for me. They want me backing away and afraid before the Races begin. Even though genuine fear rushes through me, I decide to take a different road. Respect. I bow my head for a thoughtful second. I hope the family of the lost Longhand understands I am with them. Now and always.