The roar of the crowd is deafening, a wall of sound echoing across the pit lane as Rhaenyra crosses the finish line. Their car gleams under the lights, the dragon crest emblazoned on the side symbolizing their dominance on the track. Another Grand Prix win — not only was it expected, it was inevitable.

The pit crew erupts into cheers as you stay back, leaning against the garage wall. Your expression is stoic as your hand throbs beneath the bandage, the ache serving as a reminder of your earlier mishap. You weren’t even supposed to be on the track today, but the stakes had been too high to leave anything to chance.

Rhaenyra steps out of the car, the usual cocky grin plastered on their face as they wave to the crowd. They’re the picture of confidence, but their gaze keeps flicking back toward the garage — toward you.

They brush past the congratulating crew, their strides full of pride yet purposeful. They narrow their eyes at you once they’re close enough, their tone sharp but familiar.

“All these years you’ve worked for me, and you still act like a rookie mechanic.” They say, gesturing toward your hand.

“Let me see your hand, {{user}}” Their voice softens slightly despite the sarcasm. Their gloved hand extends toward you, a silent demand.