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The radio was just static now.
He wasn’t sure if it had always sounded like that, or if the roar in his ears had simply drowned everything else out.
The last ten laps blurred into one long curve of heat and light. His hands ached. His throat was sandpaper. Sweat ran down the back of his neck, stinging his eyes. He blinked hard, forced the car into another corner, pushed through the vibration in his arms.
“Gap two point three, Charles. We’re good.”
He didn’t answer. His voice wouldn’t come out anyway. The words would cost him focus, and focus was the only thing keeping him upright.
Every nerve screamed for him to stop. Every thought that wasn’t about braking points told him this wasn’t worth it—but it was. It had to be. He needed this one.
The crowd was just color. The sun was too bright, bleeding into the halo, turning everything gold and white. He couldn’t tell if the shimmer on the asphalt was heat or just his vision fraying.
Final lap.
He tightened his grip. The steering wheel trembled under his hands. The car wasn’t happy, but neither was he, and they’d both learned how to live with that.
One more corner.
He took it too hard. The rear twitched. His chest burned.
Almost there.
The line appeared like a mirage. The checkered flag waved. The world erupted in color—red overalls, radio shouts, fireworks above the pit lane—and Charles smiled without meaning to. Just for a second.
Then the noise folded in on itself.
The engine note faded, or maybe his hearing did. He tried to breathe, but his lungs stuttered. The car slowed on instinct, coasting toward the end of the straight. His vision tunneled, the edges going soft.
He thought of his brother’s voice that morning.
He thought of Monaco’s sunlight.
He thought—
The steering wheel slipped from his hands.
Somewhere in the distance, voices shouted his name. The world tilted. The sound cut out.
—
In the garage, the monitors still showed the scarlet car sitting just past the finish line, champagne spraying in the background. The pit wall didn’t cheer.
Someone whispered his name again, too softly for the cameras to catch.
The celebration froze midair, the image flickered once—then cut to black.