“If this is the last time I see your eyes before the lights go out, I need you to know, there’s not a version of me that doesn’t find you,” I murmured.
I lingered for half a second more, just long enough to let that settle between us. Then I turned, heart in my throat, hands securing my own helmet.
The lights went out,and instinct took over. The first turn was clean, no contact, no drama—just pure racing. It sent a rush of adrenaline through my veins, and my focus sharpened.
Aurélie had slotted herself neatly behind me, her car a blur of navy and gold in my mirrors. Kimi surged ahead, taking the lead as Marco tucked in behind him. It was the kind of start that kept engineers breathing and commentators praising our craft. My radio crackled as my race engineer called updates—clean laps, energy recovery on point. Everything was under control.
I forced myself not to glance at the pit boards or overthink the chaos behind us. I couldn’t let myself wonder where Morel was, or if Aurélie was close enough to make a move.
By Lap 13, the inevitable happened—contact at Turn 7 between the backmarkers. The safety car was deployed, freezing our positions and allowing the marshals to clean the debris.
“Charge the battery, stay within delta,” my engineer’s voice buzzed in my ear.
I flipped the switches on my steering wheel, the motion as automatic as breathing. I took a deep breath, my focus narrowing to the restart. Marco and Kimi were ahead, their slipstream a lifeline to keep me close. Behind me, Aurélie followed with the precision I’d come to expect. My world shrunk to tire degradation numbers, brake temperatures, and the lines I needed to nail.
We went green again. The laps passed in a blur of controlled aggression, tire conservation, and DRS activations. Marco and Kimi were still ahead, but the gap was shrinking. My car felt good—better than it had all weekend—and I was ready to pounce when the opportunity came.
Lap 21. Pit window open. “Box, box,” my engineer said.
I dove into the pit lane, hitting my marks perfectly. The tires went on, the stop smooth.
“Good job. You’ll come out P12. Clear air ahead.”
Midfield. Not ideal, but expected. I’d have to fight my way back up. My head was clear. I was in the zone. Aurélie pitted a lap after me, rejoining a few places back. She was there, but I couldn’t focus on her now.
Lap 26. P8. Morel hadn’t pitted yet, his orange car sticking out like a sore thumb in the pack. He was erratic, cutting across lines and playing defense as if his life depended on it. I could feel the tension in the car, the way his movements disrupted the flow of the race. I hated it.
“Morel ahead. He’s on older tires,” my engineer said.
No shit. I could see it in the way he struggled to hold the racing line. For a two-time world champion, the guy had shit strategy. Or maybe his team, Orion GP, had shit strategy. It was probably a good thing they were taking new ownership next year. Maybe they’d pick some decent fucking drivers.
I lined Morel up for an overtake into Turn 9, deploying energy strategically to close the gap. It opened up and I thought I had him. The move was clean—I’d done it hundreds of times—until it wasn’t.
Morel shifted, cutting across the apex as I committed to the pass.
“Shit,” I muttered, yanking the wheel to avoid contact. The car went wide, the curb jarring through my spine. But Morel didn’t back off. He cut in harder, boxing me in until I had nowhere to go.
It happened in an instant. My front wing clipped his rear tire, and suddenly the car was weightless. The world spun—a blur of asphalt, sky, and the inside of my visor. Metal sparked against the track as the halo saved my head from grinding against the ground.
My ribs and chest screamed with every jolt, and my arms were pinned by the centrifugal force as the car spun.
The impact came in waves, each hit jolting my body until I lost count. The barrier caught me, crushing the car around me as everything stopped.
For a second, there was nothing—no sound, no movement, just the oppressive weight of the car pinning me. The world felt wrong, tilted on an axis that wasn’t mine. Then the ringing in my ears grew louder, and the pain rushed in, sharp and unrelenting.
I tried to move, to orient myself, but pain radiated through my chest. My head throbbed, the helmet feeling too tight. Smoke curled around me, the acrid smell of burned rubber and fuel filling my lungs.
I couldn’t see much. The halo. The barrier. The smoke.
“Aurélie,” I croaked, barely audible even to myself. Her car hadn’t been too far behind me when she emerged from the pit lane. She was too close. I’d seen the navy and gold of her car in my mirrors, only one position behind me. The distance betweenour cars would’ve been seconds at the high speeds. Was she okay?Was she in it?The thought clawed at me, more painful than the ache in my ribs.
“Callum, are you okay?” Dom, my team principal, asked through my radio. I couldn’t move, speak,breathe.
My vision blurred, the edges darkening as I struggled to stay awake, but I was practically dangling, my straps digging into my shoulders. I couldn’t see her car, could barely hear anything over the ringing in my ears.
“Callum, can you hear me? Are you alright?”
My fingers wouldn’t work. I tried. I tried so hard. I thought about her. Lips on mine and tears in her golden-green eyes, voice shaking as she told me to be careful.
