Alaric
Qualifying day in Saudi Arabia had finally arrived. Looking out at the tight, unforgiving walls of the Jeddah street circuit, I knew there was absolutely zero room for error.
Tonight, under the blinding floodlights, it was a straight sprint for pole. Tomorrow, I will win the race. I was ready to make history, and nothing was getting in my way.
Especially not him.
Ever since we touched down in the country, I had made damn sure to avoid Nico. No conversations, no passing glances, nothing that could mess with my head. It had not even been that hard; he had been a ghost around the paddock.
He missed the mandatory media rounds because of some sudden bout of food poisoning, leaving his teammate, Ethan, to take over the press conferences and answer all the questions.
"Alaric, track temperatures are dropping for Q3. Watch the front-left warm-up on your out-lap," my race engineer droned through my earpiece as he adjusted the monitors in front of me.
