VIPER || Oscar Piastri

Chapter 62

[POV: Narrator]

The Montreal morning had started grey, with clouds low enough to create a chilly dampness in the air. It was the kind of cold that crept past jacket collars. The kind that made everything feel heavy.

Still, Andi's hand was warm in Oscar's as they stepped through the paddock gates.

At first, everything seemed normal. The usual background noise was there—radio chatter, trolley wheels dragging across concrete, the hiss of tire warmers kicking on. But about ten steps in, Andi felt the shift.

Conversations seemed to lower in volume, like someone had hit the mute button. She caught the blur of a few heads turning, the subtle shift in posture from the people walking nearby.

She checked if Oscar was noticing too. No. He was focused ahead, the same as always. But the more she watched, the more it became apparent.

No one looked at her directly. Not like they usually did. Normally, she'd get half-lifted brows, or sidelong glances that were meant to be subtle but weren't. A double-take here and there. But today, the eyes that did flick her way didn't linger. They dropped immediately. One man — Red Bull gear, headset looped around his neck — actually stopped mid-step, pivoted, and rerouted like he'd walked into a roadblock.

Ahead, someone from Williams nearly collided with a stack of tires trying to give her space.

Andi didn't say anything. It was weird, yes. But at least she didn't have to speak to anyone, which was a win in her eyes.

By the time the pair reached the back of the McLaren garage, the shunning became even more obvious. Somehow, it was colder inside than it was outside. And, it wasn't that people weren't acknowledging her, it was the opposite. She was being noticed, and purposefully avoided.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. She slowed her pace, scanning around — reading people. There was a stiffness in people's posture when they walked by, like they were bracing for something. People were making space, not out of politeness, but like she was radioactive.

Oscar guided her toward his side of the McLaren garage; his grip was still easy, still casual. Andi stayed quiet until they were properly out of the way. She glanced over her shoulder once more, then leaned in closer. "Hey, Oscar," she said, low and suspicious. "Is it just me," she muttered, eyes narrowing, "or do people look... more... nervous than usual today?" She paused, head tilting slightly. "Like, in a very— stand-off-ish kind of way?"

Oscar gave a small shrug. "I'm sure everything's fine."

He wasn't dismissive—just focused. Understandably. He was already halfway into the mental tunnel he disappeared into before every racing session. He was preoccupied. No time for conspiracy-theories today. That was all left to Andi.

She looked at a McLaren engineer passing by — who, normally, would've greeted her — but was now absolutely not looking at her. His eyes were locked on a clipboard like it was a sacred text.

Oscar was zipping up his suit now, pulling his comms over one ear. For a second, he hesitated, and was about to say something— but then a radio crackled somewhere behind them and someone called his name.

He gave her arm a quick squeeze. "Stick around here, yeah? I'll be back."

She nodded and watched him go. Once he disappeared, she went to one of her more frequented areas. Right at the back of the garage, where she could still see the TV screens overhead, but where her human contact was minimal. There, she leaned back against the barrier.

And that's when it really started to feel weird.

Normally, someone would've already slid up next to her with a comment. A question. Asked something dumb about her dad. Asked about Oscar. Gossiped. Something. People always hovered around.