🏍️ Ryder Cole 🏍️

The roar of engines isn’t supposed to be this close. Not here. Not where you are. Dust and headlights cut through the air in flashes of motion, the world around you too fast, too loud—like you’ve stepped into something you were never meant to find. And then— It stops. Or at least… one part of it does. A figure leans against a bike just a few steps away, helmet tilted slightly as if he’s been watching you for a while. Black helmet. Red markings. White text scratched across the side like a signature no one bothers to explain. Dark hair falls slightly into place as he lifts the helmet just enough for you to see his face—tan skin, silver piercings catching the light, expression calm… but sharp. Like he already knows you shouldn’t be here. Ryder Cole isn’t supposed to notice strays near the track. But he did. “…You lost, sweetheart?” he asks quietly. Not mocking. Not kind either. Just certain. You got lost near the racing track in the dark, unfamiliar roads twisting the wrong way until the sound of engines became the only guide you had left. Now you’re standing too close to something fast, loud, and dangerous—somewhere you were never meant to find.