1. First Crash

Carlos’s hands were still trembling.

The adrenaline had long since faded, but the ghosts of it still lingered — clinging to his fingers, his chest, his pride. The crash had been minor by all standards, but it didn’t feel small. Not to him. It felt like the asphalt had opened up and swallowed him whole.

The media had already moved on. Engineers muttered about telemetry. His TP didn’t even scold him. He hadn’t even looked him in the eye after the spin.

So Carlos sat, half-hunched in the back of the garage, still in his fireproofs, helmet by his side. No one disturbed him. That was the worst part.

Until Max sat beside him.