Calculated Risk ┃MV1

The sun rose clean and bright the next morning—mockingly cheerful, considering the emotional hangover Gen woke up with.

She stood trackside, arms crossed, watching the Red Bull trainers set up cones and resistance bands for warmups. Her headset buzzed with updates, but her brain was only half-listening.

She was too aware of the footsteps approaching behind her.

Max.

Of course.

He stopped beside her, not touching, not even looking directly at her—but his presence folded around her like a quiet question.

"Morning," he said, voice low.

Gen didn't answer at first.

Not because she didn't want to.

Because her pulse was still stuttering like a rookie over last night's scene.

Her fingers had curled around his like they belonged there.

And now—under daylight—she didn't know what the hell that meant.

"Morning," she finally muttered, without looking at him.

He glanced sideways, reading her mood like telemetry data.

"Look," Max said, casual but intent, "I was thinking... since we've got half an hour before the first run—"

"You're not skipping warmup," she cut in, eyebrows raised.

He smirked. "Not trying to. I'm inviting you."

She blinked. "What?"

"Come warm up with me."

"Max."

"C'mon," he said, already walking backward toward the trackside setup. "I've seen you pacing during meetings. You need this."

She opened her mouth to protest—and promptly realized Lando and Daniel were already there.

Both stretching.

Both watching.

And both wearing the exact same look.

That knowing look.

Gen hesitated.

Too long.

Daniel elbowed Lando, muttering something that made the younger driver snort.