VIPER || Oscar Piastri

Chapter 110

[POV: Narrator]

In the dining hall, everyone had that damp, half-muddy look — wind-tousled hair, clothes that hadn't dry properly after sports, and an energy level just low enough to make the long tables feel like trenches.

Andi sat in near silence, stabbing at her sweetcorn while her team sat a few seats down, whispering about pranks to pull that night. Pecco was also doing something suspicious with ketchup and milk.

Across the hall, Oscar sat diagonally from her at another table, one knee bouncing, half-listening to Alex and Logan talk star constellations. He kept glancing over, but she hadn't looked at him once.

She didn't seem mad. She had her headphones in, face calm, and she was humming softly — maybe to whatever was playing, maybe just to herself. Her fingers tapped against the table in rhythm, so if she was upset, she was hiding it well. But that wasn't likely.

By the time they were told to 'dress for cold,' and were regrouped for the final challenge briefing of the day, the sun had dipped past the hills and the temperature dropped to subzero levels.

Andi looked like she was headed into a snowstorm.

Navy sweats. Thick, polka-dot fleece socks stuffed into worn Birkenstocks. Layers on layers — hoodie, windbreaker, sherpa fleece buttoned up so high it covered half her face. She clutched the zipper to pull it over her nose, and her beanie was crammed down to her eyebrows.

The war paint had been wiped off by now, making her look windswept, cheeks pink from scrubbing.

They all gathered for the instructions: build a fire using only the provided supplies — kindling, sticks, flint. Fastest team wins. Everyone else would be ranked in descending order for points.

Simple.

As everyone shuffled out, Oscar stepped sideways through the crowd until he was next to Andi. He reached out and tugged lightly at her jacket sleeve. He looked at her — pink-nosed, flushed cheeks, eyes flickering in the overhead lights, still hiding behind her zipped-up fleece.

She looked, for lack of a better word, adorable.

Even if she was pissed off.

He didn't say that, though. Instead, he just asked:

"You gonna be warm enough in that?"

She glanced at him, then at his face, trying to read it. His tone wasn't sharp, and he wasn't smiling. Just looking at her with that slightly worried crease between his brows.

She couldn't tell if it was supposed to be sarcastic, because, to her, it was obvious— she had on two thermals, a hoodie, and her thickest socks. Not even a snowstorm could get through.

She sniffed, not quite meeting his eyes. "No, yeah. I'll be fine," she told him, then went to join Marco without waiting for more.

Outside, the cold had teeth.

Their breath came out in sharp little puffs of white as they stepped into the dark clearing, the air damp and bitter, the frost already creeping over the grass like spilled salt

Andi wrapped her arms tight across her chest and crouched in front of her and Marco's assigned fire kit. She began arranging the structure, stacking the kindling. Marco followed, beginning to strike the flint.