2 Lamborghini -

“Lead the way,” he said.

The driver of the Aventador stepped out. He was in his late sixties, dressed in worn jeans and a faded flannel shirt. Silver hair, crinkled eyes. He looked less like a supercar owner and more like a retired rancher.

They stood in silence for a moment. The only sound was the ticking of hot engines and the distant buzz of cicadas. 2 lamborghini

“Nice rentals,” Leo said, leaning against his sedan, trying for casual and failing.

The Huracán’s driver was a woman, maybe thirty, with a messy bun and a paint-stained hoodie. She stretched like a cat and yawned. “Lead the way,” he said

The old man laughed—a real, dusty laugh. “Rentals? Son, I’ve had that Aventador for eleven years. Bought it the day my wife left me. Best decision I ever made.”

Leo gripped the wheel of his rented sedan and pulled to the side. He’d been driving for three hours, fleeing a failed business and a failed marriage, heading nowhere in particular. But now, he watched as two Lamborghinis screamed past. Silver hair, crinkled eyes

The woman pulled two sodas from the machine and tossed one to Leo. “We’re heading to the Valley of Fire. Sunset hits the red rocks like stained glass. You’ve got four wheels and a full tank.”

And three cars—two roaring Italian stallions and one coughing sedan—pulled out onto the empty highway, side by side, chasing the sun toward the fire.