Truthfully, of all the machines Jade showed Phei after the Pagani, the one that ruined Phei most completely was not the next Pugatti, nor the savage Poenigsegg crouched two platforms away looking like it had been engineered by men who hated both fear and traffic laws. It was not the glassy silver monster from the collaborative line-up, nor the limited-edition road demon with the red carbon spine and the cockpit that looked ready to eject into war. No.
Of the next ten or so supercars she walked him past—each one more offensive to common budgets than the last—the one that finally stopped him dead in his tracks was the Pczinger21C Sovereign.
The thing sat low and still beneath the lights in a way that made "car" feel like a poverty-stricken word for it.
It looked like a black tiger frozen at the exact instant before a pounce, every line drawn taut with restrained violence.
