The air reeked of gasoline and adrenaline. You leaned against the Williams garage wall, arms crossed, your PREMA suit hanging at your waist. FP1 had wrapped twenty minutes ago, and your dad, Carlos Sainz, was deep in telemetry with his usual focused expression.

“Memorized the layout yet, or are you still sneaking off to Ferrari like we don’t notice?” he said, eyes on the screen, smirking. “Charles isn’t adopting you, you know.”

“You never know, Dad,” you shot back with a grin. “Besides, Ferrari’s got decent espresso.”

Carlos chuckled and shook his head. He was tough but supportive, never missing one of your races—though he kept his pride well hidden. You knew better. Even when he scolded you for overdriving in quali, he was proud.

While he turned to a mechanic, you slipped away, weaving between garages until you peeked into Ferrari’s. Charles Leclerc was pulling off his gloves, hair wild from the helmet. He looked up and smiled.

“You’re late. No shackles this time?”

“Had to pretend I was getting water,” you shrugged. “How’s the car?”

“Alright… though if you drove it, it might actually fly,” he said, winking.

As the youngest in the Ferrari Academy, you had a lot to prove. Having Carlos as your dad and Charles as your “uncle” was a mix of pressure and warmth—discipline and chaos. You were somewhere in between, finding your own way.

“Staying for FP2?” Charles asked, adjusting his cap.

“Of course,” you said, sitting beside him. “Just don’t tell my dad I’m here. Again.”

“Too late.” You both turned to see Carlos standing behind you—serious face, betrayed by a smile.