“Head down, Aleks,” Mac urged over the radio. “You can still recover. Still points to gain.”
But points weren’t the problem.
I’d lost my edge. Not because of guilt. Because of doubt. And doubt was more corrosive than any headline Elena Archer could write.
Final lap. I crossed the line in P8. No celebration. No radio cheers. Just silence, static, and the distant roar of other people’s victories.
I pulled into the pit lane behind the race leaders and killed the engine. The world felt far away. Like I was underwater. Pressure without oxygen.
I climbed out of the car and stripped off the helmet, sweat soaking the collar of my race suit. Cameras flashed. Reporters waited. But I didn’t speak.
I didn’t look at anyone.
And I especially didn’t look for her.
Because I knew if I saw her right now, I’d either break…
…or burn everything down.
F1 Pulse Broadcast: Post-Race Chat, Suzuka
MARTY: Well, Suzuka delivered—and not the way Obsidian hoped. Moretti takes the win for Hawthorn, Rivers slides into second for Nova, and Kane scrapes a podium. Thoughts, T?
TARA: Moretti looked dangerous today. Controlled, aggressive, every move calculated. Hawthorn nailed strategy. That final stint was chef’s kiss.
MARTY: Agreed. And Rivers? Classic Nova drama—big moves, big risks, big result. That lunge into the chicane on lap 38? Ballsy.
TARA: Kane surprised me, though. He’s been quietly solid this season. I was ready to write him off, but maybe the old dog’s still got a few tricks.
MARTY: Meanwhile… Obsidian. Yikes. Volkov drove like he was haunted. Early pit call, contact with Kane, all over the place. P8? That’s not champion behaviour.
TARA: He looked rattled. You don’t usually see that from him. Wonder if there’s more going on behind the scenes.
MARTY: And Callum Drake? Nowhere. P12. Out of the points, out of the conversation. And yet, that’s his best position so far this season.
TARA: He’s got the pace, but not the presence. Still in Volkov’s shadow.
MARTY: And shout out to Vega—solid qualifying but fell short in the race. P11. Stratos will be disappointed.
TARA: It’s still early days, but if I’m Ross at Obsidian, I’m not sleeping easy. That bulletproof image? Starting to crack.
MARTY: And the rest of the grid smells blood.
Elena Archer – Post-Race, Suzuka
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but the words refused to come.
The room was stifling. Not in temperature—it was comfortably cool—but in size. The walls felt closer than they had this morning. Or maybe it was just the deadline. Or the guilt.
I chewed on my thumbnail, glaring at the blinking cursor.
Come on, Archer. You once broke a doping scandal from a hotel lobby with no Wi-Fi. You’ve filed copy while being chased off a paddock by security. This should be easy.
But it wasn’t.
Because somewhere out there, Aleksandr Volkov was racing. And I wasn’t watching.
I’d made the choice. No distractions. No glancing at live timings or letting the broadcasters colour my thoughts. I needed the article to speak for itself—to hold up under scrutiny. Which meant no emotional indulgence. No replays. No excuses.
