Redline | L.Norris

eleven

Qualifying was chaotic, to say the least. Q1 kicked off with an early yellow flag, causing a rush to get in as many laps as possible before the session ended. Isla and Max made it through to Q2, but the session was unforgiving for others, with Lewis and Charles among the five drivers eliminated early.

Q2 went smoothly for Isla, but Max's chances were ruined when George impeded his push lap, causing him to shockingly miss out on a spot in Q3. Christian, already feeling the pressure, was furious. He made it clear to the team that the incident would be reviewed thoroughly by the stewards, though the damage had already been done. Max would start from an unexpected P11, a far cry from the position he expected, but a reminder of just how unpredictable the sport could be.

However, it was Q3 where everything truly went to shit. Isla managed to get in one strong push lap before Stroll triggered a red flag by crashing into Carlos. With the clock ticking and only a handful of cars having completed a lap, it quickly became apparent that many wouldn't have time to improve their times. The entire grid was caught in limbo, unsure whether to pit or push for one last lap. Red Bull, reading the situation with precision, called Isla in. They knew there wouldn't be enough time for another flying lap, and they didn't want to risk anything on a frantic, uncertain final attempt.

As the session played out, Isla stepped out of her car and made her way over to the pit wall, keen to see how the others had fared. She glanced over at Max's side and saw how the energy had changed since starting qualifying. Even though Max would be starting P11, she knew it would simply push him harder. He had reclaimed pole from further back on the grid before.

As Isla neared the monitors, her engineer pulled his headphones down with a wide grin, "Kid, you just got your first pole position." A wave of disbelief and excitement washed over her, and for a brief moment, she forgot about the chaos that had unfolded before.

"I thought there was still time left?" she asked, half in shock, glancing over to the track as the marshals worked to clear the wreckage.

"Three minutes left but the crane hasn't fully made its way out there. Both cars are still on track, so they went ahead and called it. Made it easier on the mechanic trying to keep everything perfect for the hope of one last lap."

Isla stood there, absorbing it all. The rush, the chaos, the sheer unpredictability of it all. Then Jack pulled her in for a brief hug. "Congrats, kid. You just gave more hope to this team than you think. And you've made history today."

Isla blinked, still processing the moment. "Made history?"

Jack smiled wider. "You're the first woman to take pole for Red Bull. You just proved what everyone already knew—you belong here."

Cheers sounded behind her, voices all mixing together. But it was one statement that caught her attention. "Räikkönen back on pole!"

****

Later that evening, Isla walked out of another brutal media session, feeling the exhaustion seep into her bones. She wanted nothing more than to get back to her hotel room and sleep for a solid 12 hours. The session had been grueling, with journalists hounding her on every angle: how she felt about making history, whether she could repeat her performance in the race, and if she felt the pressure now that expectations were sky-high.

She didn't have anyone she considered a true friend in there with her—Oscar was P2 and Alex was P3. Both great guys, but neither was one for confrontation or taking the heat with her. So, she was left to face the barrage of questions alone.

Just as she was about to round the corner, a hand clapped down on her shoulder, making her jump so violently she nearly stumbled. The hand quickly steadied her arm before she could fall, and Isla's heart slammed in her chest as she spun around.