The race had been intense from the start—high speeds, aggressive overtakes, the kind of tension that made every second feel like a lifetime. Oscar was locked in his own battle, focused on the track ahead, his radio crackling with strategy calls. {{user}} was somewhere in the mix, fighting just as hard, pushing the limits like she always did. Different teams, different colors on their suits, but it had never mattered. On the grid, they were rivals. Everywhere else, they were something else entirely.

Then, it happened.

A sharp intake of breath from his race engineer. A sudden shift in the energy around him. His own name was still being called over the radio, but the words barely registered. The screens flickered in his peripheral vision—debris, a car spun out, marshals already moving. And then her name.

His grip tightened on the wheel.

“Red flag, red flag. Everyone to the pit lane.”

He followed the orders on autopilot, but his mind was already ahead of him, already somewhere else. The broadcast hadn’t shown everything. He couldn’t see how bad it was. He couldn’t see her.

And for the first time all season, he didn’t care about the race.