Redline | L.Norris

twenty nine

The soft light coming through the hotel curtains was already warm, golden, and far too bright for how early it still felt.

Isla stirred, hand reaching to the other side of the bed only to find cool sheets.

Empty.

She blinked, rolling toward the nightstand where a small folded note rested, anchored by her phone.

Good luck today. I'll be rooting for you, no matter what. You've got this. —L

A small smile tugged at her lips. Somehow, just that one sentence was enough to calm the static still clinging to her chest from the night before.

She showered, pulled on her team gear, and took a moment in front of the mirror. Her reflection was quiet, unreadable. Not broken. Just... still.

She pulled her hair back, tied it off, and tucked her race accreditation lanyard into her duffel. Her mind had already started to move faster than her hands, corners, fuel strategy, tire degradation. She was slipping into the zone.

Her phone buzzed just as she slid her sunglasses on her head.

Dad

She rolled her eyes fondly and answered on the second ring. "If you're about to give me some fatherly wisdom, don't bother."

There was a pause. And then, "Was going to say good morning."

"Well then, good morning," she said, voice light but with a flicker of heat behind it. "And for the record? Fuck Max. And fuck anyone else who doubts me."

There was silence on the other end. Then a low chuckle.

"That's more like it," Kimi muttered.

She stepped into the hallway and started toward the elevators, phone tucked between her cheek and shoulder.

"I mean it," she added. "I've been trying to stay professional, be the 'team player,' but I'm done letting people act like I'm not supposed to be here. I am here. I've earned every single point. And if Max doesn't like that I'm ahead, he can deal with it."

"You were quiet last night," Kimi said.

"I was tired. And... I let him get in my head. I'm not proud of it." She stepped into the elevator, the doors closing behind her. "But that ends today."

She could practically hear Kimi nodding on the other end.

"You sound like your mother when you're pissed off," he said.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is." Another pause. "Don't let him rattle you, Isla. You race your race. Today, tomorrow, Abu Dhabi, doesn't matter. You do it your way."

Her voice dropped, softer now. "Thanks, Dad."

He didn't say anything else. He didn't have to.

She ended the call as the elevator doors opened and stepped into the lobby, now buzzing with team personnel and early risers grabbing coffee. She walked straight through, unbothered, focused. Her boots clicked against the tile with purpose.

As she slid into her car to go to the circuit, she caught her reflection in the window.

No doubt. No fear.

The girl from F3 who had almost walked away from the sport entirely was gone. In her place: a driver who had fought for her seat, her wins, her voice. One who had survived trauma, media vultures, and pressure most couldn't comprehend and still showed up ready to fight.