It's crazy, how much she loves this. She remembers the first time she sat here, beside him, nails dug into the hand holds or the dash, gritting her teeth as he muscled the car through the streets of his kingdom. She was terrified that he'd kill them both before she ever had a chance to get home. And he always brought them home safe, always, without fall.

It became a part of her daily routine, strapping in despite his scoffed admonitions that it was unnecessary; letting the roar of the engine quiet her racing mind, letting the centrifugal forces push her out of herself. The Cortina feels different to the Quattro, not as powerful, certainly. But he seems to know it just as well.

She leans into the turn unconsciously, feeling the weight lift from her body and her mind as the scenery around them blurs. There's a rhythm to his movements that's comforting. Familiar. She sits back, elbow on the window sill, hand in her hair, smiling to beat the band.

Turns out she needed this.