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Zara Devi, their New York-born strategist, flicks through data on her tablet. "The issue worsens with tire degradation. We're looking at potentially two additional stops if we can't solve it."

Misho taps at his own tablet, bringing yesterday's simulation data to a secondary screen. "The wind direction is tricky here. It's creating instability on corner entry."

"Show me the comparison." Reece leans forward.

Asuka taps a command, and a side-by-side comparison of Reece's telemetry versus Petra's appears. "It’s most significant here." She highlights a section.

Misho points to a specific wave pattern in the data. "See the difference in brake pressure application? You're more aggressive on initial input. It's upsetting the aero balance when the crosswinds hit from the west."

"Can we compensate with a front wing adjustment?" Reece gestures toward the display. "Seems a bit knackered through that section."

Miguel Marrón, Reece’s number one mechanic, shakes his head. He’s a former driver and knows his shit. "Any adjustment significant enough to correct the understeer would compromise straight-line speed."

Zara scrolls through another dataset. "If we sacrifice straight-line speed, we lose our DRS overtake advantage." That’s the Drag Reduction System. Opening a flap on the rear wing while in a DRS zone, allows the drivers to reduce drag and increase speed. It’s often the difference between being on the podium and… not.

Coy taps his pen against the table. "What about adjusting the front anti-roll bar? Stiffen it up to reduce the front end push through those corners?"

Asuka considers this for a moment. "Possibly.”

The room falls into the comfortable pattern of technical discussion that Reece can lose himself in. Numbers, physics, and machinery are so much neater than human relationships.

Except his mind slips right back to Maiken, when it should be focusing on the upcoming race.

His wife.

Christ, still getting used to that.

The thing is, he can't quite work out why she settles something restless in his head. She came to Qatar. She actually bloody came, which is more than he’d any right to expect after the way Graham spoke to her.

But there's this nagging worry that she'll bolt at any minute.

He'll return from practice and find her gone to Vegas where her life makes sense and Formula 1 drivers don't complicate everything.

The thought of her giving up on him before he’s even had a chance to prove he belongs beside her feels worse than coming in second.

Reece still doesn't understand why Maiken is so important.

They barely know each other. But he'd walked into that club Sunday night suffocating under the weight of everything — the F1 media circus, Graham's interference, the constant bloody pressure to win. Then he’d seen her, and all of it fell away.

Those eight hours with Mai were like finding a quiet garage where he could finally kill the engine and just breathe.

Yeah, he appreciates her fresh view of a world he's been in so long he'd forgotten how bizarre it all looks from the outside, but there's something between them he can't quite see clearly.

Like maybe what he's been missing isn't another person who knows how to navigate this world. Maybe it’s someone who doesn't .

Coy’s pen clatters on the table, and Reece looks up.

Their TP leans back in his chair. "How focused are you, Reece?"

The question catches him off guard. "What?"

"Your focus. Scale of one to ten. If you're distracted, we need to adjust the strategy and take fewer risks." That’s Coy. No bullshit. Always calculating.

Everyone goes quiet now that their TP has pointed at the elephant in the room. Behind Reece, Ona shifts position. Asuka's expression doesn't change, but her attention sharpens.

"My focus is fine." Reece raps his knuckles on the table. "One hundred percent, totally dialed in for the weekend."

"We're not asking about your personal business," Misho adds quickly. "We just need to know your mental state for calculations."

"The software can't account for human variables." Zara’s looking at him like a problem to solve. "I need reliable driver input for the strategy model."

Miguel clears his throat. "If it helps, I've been married twice. Each of my weddings improved my lap times the following race."

Reece laughs. "Is that so?"

"Absolutely." Miguel makes a vague gesture. "Something about the release of tension."

"TMI, Miguel." Coy shakes his head. "Look, Reece, no one in this room gives a shit if you married a dancer, a dentist, or a dolphin. We do care if you can drive the car at the limit."

Asuka doesn't even look up from her data. "The car will perform as designed if driven correctly. Personal matters are irrelevant to physics." Coming from her, it's oddly reassuring — the universe of racing continues regardless of Reece’s drama.

Reece meets Coy's gaze evenly. "I can drive the car, Coy. Better than Vegas." Where he placed fourth. "No doubt about it."

Nitro's team principal studies him for a long moment, then nods. "Alright then. Let's talk about tire strategy. The medium compound is showing unusual degradation in the heat."

The meeting continues for another half hour, diving into the details that separate podium finishes from also-rans. By the time they’re done, Reece feels centered in a way he hasn't since waking beside Maiken in Las Vegas.

As he stands, Miguel sidles up to him. "Anyone who makes Graham that angry is probably worth keeping around."

Reece raises an eyebrow. "News travels on the pace."

"It's a small paddock." Miguel shrugs. "Your father isn't known for quiet displeasure."

Before he can respond, Reece’s phone buzzes with a message from Lynch Sutton, who drives for Telco Italia:

Want Lina to meet with your wife, explain F1 wife shit & intro the others over lunch? Fresh meat always gets the piranha treatment. If she's interested, L will be in the lobby at 12:00.

Relief washes through Reece. The Suttons are well-respected in the paddock. Lina’s the daughter of a driver. She has twenty-six years of experience navigating F1's social complexities, which makes her the perfect guide for Maiken.

He types a quick message to her:

Lina Sutton has offered to meet you, explain some of the ins and outs of being an F1 WAG, and introduce you to a few others. Think it’ll be helpful. She’s Lynch Sutton’s wife.

He pauses, then types:

He drives for Telco Italia & Lina’s dad is Tanner Walsh.

Then he adds:

Tanner’s a retired world champ.

The response comes quicker than he expected:

What time?

12:00. She’ll take you to lunch.

OK

…

Thx

It's not exactly warm, nothing like the woman who laughed with him all night in Vegas.

But at least she didn't tell him not to bother because she won't be his wife much longer or to FUCK OFF .

That counts as a win. His thumb hovers over the screen.

He wants to say more, but what exactly? That he's thinking about her?

That he hopes she'll give him a chance? That despite everything, he meant what he said through that door this morning?

Instead, Reece pockets the phone.

One step at a time.