The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels against the tracks was oddly comforting. Charles Leclerc sank into the worn velvet of his seat, earbuds in, playlist humming softly in his ears. The European countryside streaked past the window: rolling green hills, sleepy villages, the occasional cluster of cows grazing as if they were the world’s most patient commuters. After a week off from the monotony of his office job, this was exactly what he had needed: quiet, solitude, and absolutely no human interaction.
And then, of course, Carlos Sainz happened.

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