Redline | L.Norris

Forty

The roar of the crowd spilled over the grandstands, rising in waves above the sound of idling engines and team chatter. The Abu Dhabi sun was beginning to sink behind the horizon, casting long shadows across the starting grid, streaks of orange and violet painting the sky like a finish line waiting to be crossed.

Isla stepped onto the grid, helmet in hand, race suit zipped up to her chin. Her Red Bull sat on pole position, parked clean and gleaming, the halo already fitted with her nameplate. It looked like it belonged there.

She glanced behind her, Max's car in P2. His team hovered close, checking last-minute sensors and brake temp readings, but he wasn't looking at them.

He was watching her.

Their eyes met across the grid.

No nod. No smirk. Just mutual understanding.

They'd pushed each other to this edge. Now one of them had to step over it.

"Fuel maps are locked," Jack said, appearing at her side. "Start strategy's loaded. If it all goes to plan, we pit on Lap 17. But we'll adapt to whatever Max throws at us."

"Copy," Isla said quietly, eyes on her car.

Jack studied her for a moment. "You alright?"

She nodded. "Not scared. Just... ready."

"Good," he said, handing her the gloves. "Because we're with you. Every corner. Every second."

As Jack stepped away to double-check the front wing settings, Kimi appeared beside her. He didn't say anything right away, just looked at her car like he was assessing it himself.

"Looks good," he finally said, deadpan. "I'd drive it."

Isla smiled. "I'll try not to crash it then."

He glanced down at her, something unreadable in his eyes. "Whatever happens out there... drive like you don't owe anyone anything."

"I won't."

A quick nod. Then, like always, he stepped away without any dramatic farewell, just a hand briefly on her shoulder as he passed.

The anthem came and went.

Media buzzed like hornets. Someone asked if she was nervous. She didn't answer.

She stood in front of her car as the five-minute warning flashed across the grid.

Max walked by slowly, pausing only for a breath as he passed her front wing.

"See you at Turn 1," he said under his breath.

She didn't blink. "Not if I see you first."

Lando came up next, grinning, his helmet tucked under his arm. "You look terrifyingly calm. Should I be worried?"

"Probably," she said.

He leaned in, kissed the side of her head. "Don't forget to breathe."

Then he was gone, jogging back toward his McLaren.

Isla slid into the cockpit as the two-minute warning echoed over the PA. Her heart was steady. Her hands firm.

She belonged here.

The mechanics stepped back. The engine fired.

And as the lights above the grid began to pulse red, Isla glanced over her shoulder to her teammate. To her surprise, his thumb was up, giving her one last good luck before they went racing.

Behind her, Isla watched in her mirrors as Lando tapped the side of his helmet three times instead of two. The gesture confused her, getting so accustomed to the "good luck" taps he'd given her all season. She made a mental note to ask him after the race.