You knew something was wrong the second he took off the helmet.

The cameras caught it—tight jaw, eyes everywhere but the garage. Lando always gave something after a race. A nod, a shrug, a joke, even when it went to hell. But not this time.

P8. He’d been running P4 before the strategy fell apart. He didn’t even yell on the radio. Just silence.

You were standing near the back, tucked by the engineers, pretending not to feel the shift in the air. The mic guy from Sky tried to catch his arm, and Lando barely looked at him before saying, “Give me a sec.”

He found you first.

Didn’t speak. Just walked up and leaned forward until his forehead touched your shoulder. Still sweaty, still breathing hard.

You didn’t ask what went wrong. He hated that.

So you just whispered, “You’re alright..”

And he nodded like he might fall apart if you said anything else.