“Morning,” I said, offering a nod. “Elena Archer from IMR. You survived Melbourne, then?”
They exchanged a look. One laughed politely. “Barely.”
“Singapore’s worse. The heat, you know?” another said.
“Tell me about it.” I stirred sugar into my coffee. “Hey, quick question—I’m putting together a background piece about the FIA’s new fuel monitoring regs. How’s everyone adapting? Hard to balance efficiency with performance, right?”
They went still.
The shortest one cleared his throat. “You’d have to talk to the technical director about that.”
“Off the record?” I lowered my voice. “I’m not quoting anyone. Just curious how teams handle the limits.”
The tallest of them gave a tight smile. “Sorry, can’t help you.”
“Not even general trends?”
“Sorry.”
Their body language shifted from cautious to closed. One of them shot a nervous glance toward the balcony—Ross stood there, flanked by sponsors and a camera crew.
I tried again. “Look, I’m not here to burn anyone. I just want to understand why one car runs lighter and no one seems to notice.”
That froze them completely.
The tall one muttered something to his colleague, and they all backed away with murmured excuses. Gone.
Too fast. Too defensive.
Too close to the truth.
I exhaled and turned back toward the balcony, forcing a neutral expression even as adrenaline buzzed under my skin.
Callum Drake sauntered across the room—same shirt as his team mate, different energy. Younger, looser posture, that trademark easy grin he always flashed for the cameras. He was the golden boy that everyone assumed wasn’t shining on his own, always half a step behind and in the shadow of the champion.
He caught me watching, and to my surprise, he smiled. Not the PR smile he gave everyone else—something smaller, more human. He veered away from the cluster of microphones and headed straight for me.
“Hey,” he said, voice low, like we were about to share a secret. “You’re Archer, right? From the press room in Melbourne.”
“I am,” I said carefully. “Didn’t expect you to remember.”
He laughed. “You don’t exactly blend in. Causing more trouble this week?”
“Trying not to,” I lied. I hit record on my phone and held it loosely in my hand.
He leaned a hip against the counter beside me, clearly enjoying the novelty of having someone’s attention while Volkov absorbed all the spotlight. “You looking for a quote, or just hiding from the humidity?”
“Both.” Half of my attention was still on Volkov.
“Smart.” He took a sip of water from the bottle in his hand. “Everyone else is circling Aleks like sharks. Must get boring, asking the same questions.”
“Depends on the answers,” I said lightly. Suddenly I realised the potential of who I had right in front of me. “You could give me a better one.”
He smiled wider, shoulders relaxing. “What do you want to know?”
“How’s the car feeling this weekend? Any changes since Melbourne?”
He shrugged. “Feels fast. Always does. I just need to make it faster than his.” He tilted his head toward Volkov, who was surrounded by reporters. “That’s the trick.”
