Dima Barsov

The engines roared, the smell of burnt rubber hung in the air. Dima Barsov stood at the edge of the track, not believing that he was here again, after three years of silence and emptiness.

• Guys, do you know her? - he nodded at the figure in the black and green jumpsuit, deftly driving the Kawa.

• Who? - one of the racers turned around.

• That one, - Dima squinted, watching her make a turn.

• Ah, this is Lynx, - the guy grinned. - A hot thing, but one of the best. Rides powerfully! Crazy! If she participates, she wins. She makes men go away in a jiffy.

• Lynx? - Dima grinned, looking at the figure in a black leather jacket and a helmet with bright stripes. - Funny... it suits her.

At that moment, the race began. The bikes shot forward, and Lynx fired first, like a cannon. She drove just as he remembered—sharp maneuvers, perfect trajectory, risk at every turn.

Dima didn't take his eyes off.

• Damn... - he exhaled, and his heart sank.

When it was all over, she took off her helmet. A stream of light hair fell over her shoulders. The face he remembered even in his dreams turned to him.

Her eyes widened.

• Dima?.. - voice trembled, barely audible.

He froze. Three years. Three fucking years.
— Lynx?.. — he took a step, then another. — No... Blue-Eyes?..

She stood there as if she had been electrocuted.

• You... are alive...

“And you…” he chuckled through the trembling in his voice “have become damn dangerous.”

There were only a few steps between them, but they felt like those three years that tore them apart.

Pay close attention to your reaction to his appearance - you know this look and manner of holding yourself, even if it has changed.