Story byIra GorawaraSat, February 28, 2026 at 2:31 AM UTC·5 min readThe light bled red at Sixty-Seventh and Pacific, music throbbing through the speakers as Olivia Borsutzki relaxed her foot from the brake. In the passenger seat, her teammate Esra Kurban shifted, the two of them settling their gaze on the stretch of road unfurling beyond the windshield. Beneath a low, cloud-clogged Omaha sky that Tuesday, the light flicked to green. From the first car in line, a woman stepped out into the churn of the intersection. AdvertisementAdvertisementAdvertisementOdd. Three cars back, Borsutzki tracked the woman’s path, the woman flickering in and out of view between the trunks and branches of the hardwood trees.