Chapter 2
Belle nudged Lyra gently with her elbow, eyes twinkling like she already knew. “That,” she said, “was Greaseball.”
Lyra blinked, eyes still locked on the doorway the powerful engine had vanished through. “She seems… intense.”
“That’s one word,” Blue Lightning snorted, arms crossed. “She’s top dog around here. Wins most races. Has the attitude to match.”
“She’s also kind of… hot,” Belle added under her breath, smirking at Lyra’s startled look. “Don’t worry, she intimidates everyone when they first get here.”
“I’m not intimidated,” Lyra lied, straightening her back.
Belle’s grin only widened. “Sure, sweetheart.”
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They rolled back toward the coach shed, Lyra sneaking glances over her shoulder. The other engines were still watching, sizing her up like she was fresh stock. Greaseball wasn’t among them anymore—but the echo of her voice lingered, all smoke and steel.
Back at the coach shed, Pearl was lighting scented candles, lounging on her bunk, like the queen of cushions.
“So,” she sang as Lyra entered, “how was your first Greaseball sighting? Did she call you weak yet?”
“Worse. She said I wouldn’t last a week.”
Dinah, who was brushing her hair in the mirror freezed, only for a moment and then kept brushing her hair.
Lyra choked. “What?”
“Oh, honey, that’s flirting,” Pearl laughed. “That’s train yard flirting. If she thought you were boring, she wouldn’t even look at you.”
“Or she would have just bumped you off the track and rolled on,” Tassita added from his bunk, barely looking up from his sketchpad.
Lyra flopped onto her own bunk, suddenly overwhelmed. New shedmates. New yard. A racetrack. And that engine…
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Later that night, Lyra stood at the edge of the track, moonlight glinting off the metal rails. The stand was empty now, quiet, like it was holding its breath.
“What’re you doing out here?” a voice rasped behind her.
She turned too quickly, almost tripping on her own wheels. Greaseball stood a few paces back, arms crossed, the soft glow of overhead lights throwing sharp shadows across her face.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Lyra admitted, keeping her voice steady. “You know, new place and all.”
Greaseball rolled a little closer, slow and deliberate. “This track ain’t for lounging.”
“I wasn’t lounging.”
“No?” The engine’s smirk deepened. “Looked like you were.”
Lyra met her gaze, jaw tight. “Maybe I was,” and with a smile she was trying to hide, added, “that would be ironic wouldn't it.”
The moment held, charged and brittle. Then Greaseball’s smirk faded, just a flicker of something unreadable behind her eyes.
“You got guts. Let’s see if you’ve got wheels.”
She turned and rolled away, not looking back. Lyra stayed rooted in place, heart thudding in her chest like a runaway train.