Rye's motorcycle died halfway up the qualifying grade, and she knew right then she would never race the Ironmane Circuit on it. She wanted more than a race. She wanted her name on the winners' wall, the first woman like her to take that title. The bike coughed, spat oil, and quit on the rocky slope. The other riders roared past. A track official waved her off the course. Her chihuahua, strapped in the sidecar with tiny goggles, barked at the men like a fighter twice his size. She walked the dead bike back down. The engine was too soft for the Circuit's broken terrain. Sharp rock, deep ruts, mud that swallowed tires whole. Her machine was built for smooth streets, not this. She needed a real Ironmane bike. Only one man in Knothole still knew how to build one. The secret dealer worked behind a huge old factory. Heavy walls, rusted loading bays, no sign of what hid inside. Rye pounded on a side door until it scraped open. Hank Grimes filled the gap, a whiskey bottle in one greasy fist. He built the bikes that made legends. He also drank like the town would run dry by morning. Rye had known him since she was a kid handing him wrenches. He looked her over, then looked past her at the coughing bike. "That thing tried to climb the Ironmane," he said. He laughed, short and mean. "You've got more nerve than sense." "I need a bike that can qualify," Rye said. "You're the only one who builds them." Hank took a long pull from the bottle. "Built my last one years ago. I'm done." He started to shut the door. Rye jammed her boot in the gap. Her dog growled from the sidecar. "Then teach me. I'll bring the parts. I'll do the labor. You just show me the build." He stared at her boot, then at her face. Something old moved behind his tired eyes. "You'd wreck it in a week." "Maybe," she said. "But I won't quit like you did." The bottle stopped halfway to his mouth. For a moment she thought he would slam the door on her foot. Instead he stepped back and swung it wide. Inside, under dust cloths, sat the bones of a machine built for the Circuit. "Parts list is long," Hank said. "Rare stuff. Costs more than you've got." "I'll find them." He pointed the bottle at her. "Then you've got a bike. If you can pay for it." Rye looked at the frame and felt the door to her dream crack open. She had a builder now. She had a plan. But she also had a list of parts no ordinary shop would carry, and no money to buy them. She had traded one dead end for a much steeper climb.