“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, and then, with a nod in my direction, “and the conscience of the operation.”
“Simulator felt off through mid,” I said before he could shape the mood. “Especially Seven through Nine. Torque’s staged wrong on exit.”
Vehicle Dynamics cleared his throat. “The model’s built on Melbourne data and last year’s Singapore overlay. Within expected variance.”
“It’s not right.”
Ross folded himself into a chair, hands easy, voice easier. “And yet, Aleks, even when things feel not right you tend to make them look very right. Lap times?”
Mac’s tablet threw numbers to the big screen. “Within a tenth of baseline on softs, two tenths up on fall-off. He’s pinching entry at Five. We’ll iron it.”
I watched the traces stream past: throttle, brake, steering. In the lines, the car looked like a cathedral drawn by a patient god. In my hands, it had briefly felt like a lie.
“I want to see the torque map they’ve loaded into baseline,” I said.
The engineers exchanged a single glance. Tiny. Practised.
“It’s the same map you had in Melbourne,” the guy from Dynamics said. “Adjusted for ambient.”
“Then it’s wrong.”
Ross smiled as if we were discussing menu choices. “What’s wrong, specifically?”
“Feel.”
He spread his hands. “A priceless instrument, feel. But the model points elsewhere. Let’s not go… chasing ghosts.”
The phrase slid between my ribs the way a blade might: cold, precise, familiar. Elena’s voice, not his. Do rumours ever start with something real?
“Run it again,” I said. “I’ll find the time without you.”
“We’d never dream of stopping you finding time,” Ross replied, silk over steel. “But remember we’re not in Singapore tonight. We’re in Brackley, and we have a calendar. Press at three. Sponsor walk-through at four. Social clips at five. Smile and slow movements. Don’t frighten the interns.”
A vein in my jaw ticked. “I’d rather drive.”
“And we’d rather win hearts while we’re winning races.” He grinned. “Imagine the efficiency.”
Mac nudged a bottle of water towards me. The cap clicked under my thumb; I drank. When I put it down, my hand was steady again.
“Another run,” I said. “Give me the cold track map and a green surface.”
“We’ll slot it in before the press get here,” Mac said in his rough Scottish accent.
Ross rose, smoothing an imaginary crease. “That’s the spirit.”
As he passed my chair, he laid two fingers on my shoulder. A touch that said ‘my driver’ for anyone watching. For me, it just felt like weight.
From the far end of the table, Callum stretched and let his chair rock back.
“Well,” he said lightly, “always a pleasure watching perfection in motion.”
The room gave a polite ripple of laughter, thin as paper. Ross smiled like he’d rehearsed it.
But when I glanced at Callum, his eyes weren’t smiling. He met my gaze for a heartbeat, then dropped it back to his phone.
“Keep up the good work, everyone,” Ross said as he strode from the room. And just like that, the meeting dissolved.
The second run came closer. I hit the kerbs with the assurance the car liked. I breathed where the circuit asked. The delta obeyed.
