He dropped the visor. The green light at the end of the pit lane flickered to life.
For forty minutes, it was a dance of data and bravery. Leo pushed the limits of the Esses, his neck straining against the G-forces. But then, a warning light flashed amber on his steering wheel. Brake temps critical. "Box, Leo, box," the radio crackled.
"Stream's up, Link 22 is live," a young fan whispered into his phone in the grandstands, his eyes darting between the digital screen in his palm and the blur of carbon fiber on the track.
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