Carlos Sainz wasn’t a man who panicked easily.
He’d spent his life threading the needle between life and death at 300 kilometers per hour. He’d felt the thunder of engines in his bones, lived on the edge of tire degradation and tactical gambles, and survived years in a sport where a second could cost everything. Pressure was his second skin. He knew chaos like an old rival, respected it, and had made peace with it long ago.

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