Singapore’s Marina Bay paddock gleamed under floodlights, its shadows sharper than daylight could ever allow. Teams rushed through their routines in suffocating humidity, mechanics wiping sweat from their brows even as engineers barked through radios. Journalists hovered in the gaps, trading clipped notes and barbed remarks, their patience worn thin by the lateness of the night. But within the stewards’ offices, the atmosphere was heavier still.

A series of regulation disputes had already strained tempers, and every constructor believed the others were pushing too far. Assistants carried documents back and forth, glancing over their shoulders before speaking in low voices. Each delay fueled fresh accusations, each silence sharpened mistrust. By the time night neared, the paddock’s energy was brittle, split between exhaustion and the quiet certainty that something more was at stake than the results on paper.