Leo came off Turn 7 alongside Moreau's rear wing. The Frenchman registered him — Leo saw the slight tightening of the Prema's line on the exit, the instinctive defensive movement of a driver who had suddenly become aware that someone was beside them.
Leo was already past.
He moved back to the racing line for Turn 8.
"Leo." Anya's voice on the radio. Not the controlled professional tone. Something rawer. "What— that was— stay on it. Stay on the lap."
"Copy," Leo said.
Leo's voice was flat but his heart rate was not.
He was aware of it now — the specific, physical response to 6.6G through a left-hander on the wrong line with a rival fifteen metres ahead and seventeen centimetres of clearance.
The pod had simulated high G-load and the physical response. But it had not simulated what it felt like when the consequence of getting it wrong was real metal hitting real concrete barrier at real speed.
His hands had been completely steady through the manoeuvre.
