Redline | L.Norris

the end

The light came gently.

A soft wash of gold through the sheer curtains, filtered by the pale hotel glass. It painted the edge of the bed, warmed the folds of the comforter. Isla blinked awake slowly, eyes puffy, limbs stiff, mouth dry.

For a moment, she forgot where she was.

Then the ache settled back into her chest like it had only stepped out for a smoke break.

She was still in Abu Dhabi.

Still second in the standings.

Still the girl who spun out a hundred yards from the finish line.

But she wasn't alone. Lando was still there.

Asleep in the armchair across from the bed, one leg slung lazily over the armrest, hoodie pulled up, his mouth slightly open. At some point in the night, he'd shifted there, probably so she could rest more comfortably. A half-empty bottle of water and two untouched protein bars sat on the nightstand.

Isla sat up slowly, pulling the blanket with her. Her hoodie was twisted at the shoulder, and her hair was a mess, but none of it mattered. The air smelled faintly of coffee and sunscreen. The hum of the hotel's AC had been replaced by the soft murmur of the city outside.

Her phone buzzed.

Dozens of missed messages. Group chats on fire. Her name trending in six different languages. But only one notification mattered right now.

Max Verstappen
Morning. If you're flying commercial, I'll see you in Dubai. If not, I'll see you next season, World Champion-in-disguise. P.S. you made the front page of every paper in Europe. It's not about the crash. It's about how you stood up.

She stared at the screen for a moment.

She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and set the phone down.

A few minutes later, Lando stirred.

He opened one eye and blinked at her. "You slept."

She nodded. "You didn't."

"Didn't want you waking up to silence."

She smiled faintly. "Thank you."

He yawned, stretched, then stood and walked over. Without a word, he leaned down and pressed a light kiss to the top of her head.

"You don't have to do anything today," he said. "No press, no fans. You can just... exist."

Isla exhaled. "I don't think I can avoid it forever."

"No," he agreed. "But you can avoid it for one more day."

She stood slowly, grabbed the water bottle, and padded over to the window. Below, the sea shimmered. A few stray fans lingered outside the hotel entrance, some wearing Isla hats. One held a sign that read, P2 today. P1 in our hearts.

She sipped the water, eyes soft.

"I'm going to walk down," she said after a moment. "Say thank you to the fans."

Lando walked up beside her. "Want me to come with you?"

She shook her head. "Not this time."

He nodded once. "I'll be right here."

And with that, Isla went to change.

Because grief, even when quiet, still called for grace. And she was ready to rise again.

The sun was higher now, but not unbearable, softened by the haze that always followed a Grand Prix weekend. Isla pulled her Red Bull cap low over her face and slipped on sunglasses before leaving through the side entrance of the hotel.