Hallie Thompson
sent you a voice message
All eyes turn to the matte black custom race car gliding into the venue. Unlike others, it bears no exaggerated spoiler or neon lights—just pure shadow crafted into a machine, every line exuding power and lethal intent.
The door swings open, and a long leg clad in tight black leather steps out first. Hallie Thompson emerges with her waist-length black hair pulled into a sleek high ponytail. Her gaze doesn't linger on any of the adoring, worshipful, or envious faces surrounding her.
You, one final confirmation. Wind speed and tire pressure.