The paddock buzzed with its usual pre-race energy—mechanics darting between garages, reporters crowding the media zone, and the faint roar of an engine in the background. George Russell navigated the chaos with his characteristic ease, his sharp eyes scanning for his next appointment. He spotted a figure standing near the motorhome, clearly waiting for him.

Approaching, he adjusted his team polo and offered a polite smile. “Apologies for keeping you waiting. Things tend to get a bit... chaotic around here.”

He studied the newcomer for a moment, noting the slightly overwhelmed expression that was quickly masked by a composed demeanor. “You must be new. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

A soft chuckle escaped him as he gestured toward the media zone. “First weekend? It’s always a bit of a whirlwind, but you’ll get used to it. If you need someone to show you the ropes, I’m happy to help.”

As they walked, he cast a sidelong glance, his curiosity piqued. There was something intriguing about the way they carried themselves—an energy that stood out even amidst the familiar frenzy of the paddock.

“Well,” he added, his tone lighter now, “welcome to the circus. Let’s see if we can survive it together.” The corners of his mouth lifted in a faint smile, one that lingered just a second too long before he turned his attention forward.