Wednesday – Circuit de Catalunya, Barcelona
The Spanish sun hadn't yet reached its peak, but the air around the paddock buzzed with energy — vans unloaded equipment with mechanical grace, team members shouted over headset chatter, and the occasional rumble of test engines echoed across the gravelled pit paths. Barcelona always brought heat. Not just from the weather, but the expectations.
Vaayu GP had arrived early.
Their garage sat sandwiched between Tejas Motorsports and Mirage Velocity, their team banners still being hoisted by the local crew. Inside, fans whirred to life. Engineers rolled out floor mats, telemetry consoles, and the two Vaayu cars — one glistening, the other silent.
Sukhman's No. 19 was parked neatly beside its twin, wrapped in its pale blue and silver livery. But while the machine looked ready, its pilot's mind was anything but.
---
Inside the Hospitality Suite – Vaayu GP Briefing Room
Raghav stood at the head of a U-shaped table, arms crossed. Rina was on his left, Maya on his right. Siddharth had just finished syncing logistical data on the screens — freight manifest, fuel allocation, and tire compounds available from Pirelli.
"Two major concerns," Rina began. "One, we're lagging in high-speed sector grip. Two, media pressure on Sukhman's unpredictable form is growing. It's subtle — but it's there. Headlines about his 'mental strain' post-injury, unfounded comments about his racing instinct."
Maya added, "The sponsors are nervous. Satguru Paints pulled digital banners for Barcelona. Claimed it's a 'rotational ad cycle,' but we know it's nerves."
Raghav ran a hand across his chin. "And what about Reid?"
"Climbing in attention," Rina replied. "Not just because of her racecraft. She's suddenly... more approachable online. Posting behind-the-scenes shots. Engaging."
"Calculated," Raghav muttered. "She's repositioning herself."
Siddharth looked up. "What's the play here, boss? We bet on Sukhman or—?"
"We don't hedge," Raghav cut him off. "We reset. Everything starts fresh in Barcelona."
---
Meanwhile: Sukhman's Morning Walk Around the Circuit
It was a personal tradition — walk the circuit before the chaos begins.
Sukhman stood at Turn 3, where drivers pushed throttle through a sweeping right-hander that punished the uncommitted. His visor hung by his side, helmet in hand. Sweat ran lightly down his neck. Not from heat. From something heavier.
Charlotte's voice echoed in his head from earlier texts.
> "You have a habit of carrying ghosts. Let them watch, not drive."
He bent down, placed his palm flat against the warm tarmac, and exhaled.
"You either fight for your place," he whispered, "or you let someone else write your story."
A voice cut through the breeze.
"You talk to the track too?"
It was Ravi Deshmukh — arms folded, a soft grin under dark sunglasses. His orange and white Tejas Motorsports hoodie hung loose.
Sukhman stood, brushing gravel off his palm. "Just listening."
"To what?"
"To the ghosts."
Ravi chuckled. "Well, mine don't whisper. They yell."
They walked together for a bit, exchanging no words. But Sukhman noticed something — Ravi's new shoes. Freshly delivered. A brand never used before in motorsport.
Odd.
Ravi's karting background always made him scrappy, inventive. But this? Felt... engineered.
---
In the SBA driver Trailer – Charlotte's Private Interview
"Do you see yourself as a contender again?" the journalist asked.
Charlotte leaned back, her fingers steepled. "I never stopped being one. The world just got louder around me."
The lights flickered slightly — barely noticeable. But Charlotte caught it. A change in voltage. A momentary delay in power backup response.
Outside, Erik Holtz passed the trailer window.
And somewhere else…
---
UNKNOWN LOCATION – Surveillance Room, Sector 6 Underground, Barcelona
Screens surrounded the dimly lit space.
Every major driver had a monitor. A web of data crawled across screens — pulse readings, brake patterns, tire heat readings, diet logs, even water consumption.
At the center of the room, the man in the chair watched Holtz's telemetry. Then flicked to Reid's facial expression from the interview, caught via satellite relay.
The intercom chimed.
> "Phase Three initiated, sir. System sync complete."
He nodded.
"Monitor Singh and Deshmukh. Pay attention to anomalies in Singh's car diagnostics if anything changes. But don't tamper — just observe. For now."
His eyes then turned to the third screen.
Jia Tan.
A curious new deviation in engine strain pattern from Shanghai to Monza.
He smirked.
> "It begins."
---
Later That Evening – Back at the Circuit
As darkness blanketed Barcelona, pit crews downed tools for the night. Generators hummed. Mechanics double-checked torque readings on bolts. Journalists retreated to hotels to write tomorrow's stories.
In Vaayu GP's temporary lounge, Harinder was arranging snacks on a table — trail mix and masala peanuts.
Sukhman walked in, exhausted, but smiling.
"You know this doesn't count as dinner, right?" he asked.
Harinder replied, "Only if your brain runs on chicken biryani. Mine is solar-powered."
Sukhman chuckled. He sat. Looked around the dimly lit room. Felt the quiet.
Then, his phone vibrated.
Charlotte Reid [21:09]
Track walk helps. But silence helps more. You'll be ready. Just don't second-guess your instincts.
He typed slowly.
Sukhman [21:11]
Thanks. I needed that.
Another pause.
Then he added.
Sukhman [21:12]
You ever worry that we're just pawns on a board we can't even see?
There was a longer delay.
Charlotte [21:15]
No. Pawns don't fight back. But we do. That's the difference from them and us.