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windshield, blocking his sight.
    He turned the wheel sharply to clear his windshield, and when he blinked, there it was again: the churning waves and sinking ships. But now he saw something else as well—a great black silhouette with wings and a tail, soaring through the gray sky, breathing fire.
    Another bump, and Wes was back in the race, past the bend and into the straightaway. If one of the other drivers was going to pass him, now was the time. They would approach from the inside and try to force him toward one of the outer lanes.
Fine. Let them.
He wasn’t trying to win the race, after all. Winning was the last thing he wanted to do. Mostly, he just wanted to stay alive.
    Screaming around the turn with the track opening up before him, Wes didn’t have to blink this time to see the bow of the drone ship again, and the creature in the air. And this time he saw
her.
    Nat on her drakon, wielding a sword, looking like some kind of god, like a story from a fairy tale, like a hero from the book of legends, her long dark hair streaming like a ribbon in the sky.
    Nat!
    Wes?
    She was looking right back at him, her green tiger eyes flashing in shock and joy.
    Nat!
    But just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone.
    It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. Was it a memory? But Nat looked different—her hair was longer, and she was wearing different clothes. Armor? He could have sworn she was wearing a suit of leather and black chain mail, similar to the black scales of her drakon. It had to be a dream.
    But it
felt
so real.
    And his feelings for her were as real as the day they’d said good-bye.
    He’d done what he promised. He’d taken her out of New Vegas, across the ruined Pacific to the Blue, her home. Together they survived slavers and traitors, chaos and death. Wes had taken her right to the gate of Arem, where she and her drakon had turned the entire Pacific fleet into ash in order to defend their homeland.
    An Aston Martin crashed against him with a thunderous crack, sending his car spinning, and Wes quickly refocused on the track. He flew ahead of a pair of black Ferraris, the white Lamborghini close behind. Good. He would lead them for a few laps, before letting them overtake him. The guys in the exotic cars were the ones who were supposed to win, paying top dollar for the privilege. Execs from as far as Xian and New Kong came to the New Vegas track for a chance to race in the last international no-rules speedway. Drivers like Wes were part of the entertainment, to lend authenticity to the experience; he gave them someone to pass, to beat, to outrun, someone to splash with a cloud of snow, someone to send spiraling into the snowbanks. If he made the mistake of actually winning the race, he wouldn’t get paid. It was a risky business, driving cars, causing accidents, but it was the only work he could find. He was already blacklisted by a few of the casino bosses for refusing to torch a rival hotel, and then by the military for refusing to patrol the black waters.
    His thoughts drifted back to Nat. She had
looked
at him. She had seen him. Her presence made him feel warm for a moment, the way it had on the slavers’ ship, when she had kept them both alive. He hadn’t thought to question it before, but there was no way they would have survived the subzero weather if one of them hadn’t been made of drakonflame.
    But she wasn’t here anymore. He was alone and the car was cold. The heater on the ’77 Mustang didn’t work. They’d let him borrow an old heat suit for the race, but the jacket wasn’t working, and he was so cold, he could hardly keep his hands on the wheel.
    Maybe it was the cold that made him think about her. He’d left Nat at the door to the Blue, left her behind, left her to fight her battles alone. He’d left her to find his sister, Eliza. The girl the RSA had stolen as a child. Eliza was family; Eliza was blood. It had been months