Dusk settled over the Red Sea, painting the sky in shades of violet and bruised orange. The floodlights of the Jeddah Corniche Circuit flickered to life, turning the track into a river of light.
But the atmosphere in the paddock was heavy. Tense. Somber.
Dominik sat in the Williams garage, staring at the TV monitor through his visor. His heart rate was elevated—not just from the anticipation of FP2, but from the palpable unease hanging over the circuit.
Just moments ago, a dull boom had shattered the pre-session calm.
In the distance, a column of thick black smoke rose like a dark python from the Aramco oil depot, less than 10 miles away. The acrid smell of burning crude drifted across the track on the sea breeze.
Dominik frowned behind his visor. He clenched his hands on the steering wheel. He thought of Amin Nasser, the man he had shaken hands with just yesterday. The verbal agreement with Aramco was his ticket to the future, but right now, that future felt fragile.
The paddock was in chaos. Drivers huddled with their team principals.
"Is it safe?"
"Should we cancel?"
Some, like Hamilton, were vocal about their concerns. Others tried to act normal, laughing and chatting as if a missile hadn't just struck nearby.
Dominik remained in the car. He closed his eyes, taking deep, measured breaths. He reviewed his strategy. He didn't have the luxury of fear. He had a job to do.
15-Minute Delay.
The FIA announced a delay to the start of the session while they convened emergency meetings.
Finally, the green light illuminated.
FP2 Begins.
Dominik rolled out of the garage.
"Execute as planned, Dominik," Gaëtan Jego said over the radio, his voice steady despite the chaos outside. "First stint is long-run. Manage the Medium (C2) tire temperatures. Stroll and Vettel are ahead."
Dominik settled into a rhythm.
Every lap was a masterclass in deception. He kept his lap times stable at around 1:34.0, several seconds off the ultimate pace. He was "sandbagging"—hiding the true performance of the car while gathering crucial data on tire degradation.
As he swept through Turn 17, he felt the difference. The team had softened the rear anti-roll bar.
The rear end bit into the asphalt. The understeer in the low-speed corners was reduced significantly.
"Suspension feedback is good," Gaëtan noted, watching the telemetry. "Monitor left-rear wear."
"Copy," Dominik replied. "Mediums are holding up well."
Yellow Flag.
Kevin Magnussen (Haas) pulled over at Turn 23 with a fuel pump failure.
"Box, box," Gaëtan called. "Perfect timing."
Dominik dove into the pits. The crew fitted a set of used Softs (C3).
He rejoined the track. To the outside observer, he looked slow. His inputs were smooth, almost lazy. He braked early for the hairpins, turning in gently, protecting the tires.
But inside the cockpit, his brain was firing on all cylinders. He was monitoring the ERS deployment, the tire surface temperatures, the brake migration.
He was driving at 80% capacity, but with 100% focus.
Russell and Leclerc passed him on their push laps. They looked confused. Why was the Williams so slow?
In the Williams command center, the mood was grim.
Jost Capito and Gaëtan stared at the timing screens. Dominik was P18. The changes they made didn't seem to be showing on the stopwatch.
"I don't understand," Gaëtan muttered, flipping through his notes. "The setup data is good. The theoretical lap time is much faster. Is there an issue with the engine? Is the floor damaged?"
Capito rubbed his temples. "We cannot afford to be this slow."
Session End.
Dominik brought the car back to the pits. The mechanics pushed him into the garage.
He climbed out, removing his helmet. He looked fresh, barely sweating.
Gaëtan rushed over, looking anxious. "Dominik, what happened? The pace was..."
Dominik cut him off with a grin.
"Don't worry," he said, wiping his brow. "I was sandbagging."
Gaëtan blinked. Capito's jaw dropped slightly.
"You..." Capito started to laugh, the tension draining from his face. "You kid! You scared us to death!"
"I thought the car was broken!" Gaëtan admitted, shaking his head. "I was ready to fire the aero department."
Dominik chuckled. "The car is fine. It's fast. I just didn't want to show our hand yet. Let them think we are struggling."
He looked at the data screen, where Leclerc sat at the top and he sat near the bottom.
"Tomorrow," Dominik said, tapping the screen. "Tomorrow, we unlock the engine."
As the garage lights dimmed, the smoke from the oil fire still lingered in the sky. But inside the Williams garage, a different kind of fire was burning. The rookie had a secret, and he was ready to unleash it.