Chapter Text
Prologue – The Call
London, March 2024
Charlotte Halston was three tabs deep into a technical white paper when her phone buzzed. The name on the screen—Martijn Garritsen—was the only one she ever allowed to interrupt her.
"You sound busy,” Martin said. She could hear the grin.
“I am. Two investor meetings and a product audit,” she replied. “You’re calling from an airport again.”
"Guilty. But I have an idea. You know that charity expedition I sponsor in Vietnam—the cave one?”
"The one with ropes, humidity and people shouting motivational phrases? Yes, I’ve avoided it successfully for three years.”
“Well, one of the team dropped out. They need someone analytical, level-headed… and preferably famous enough that sponsors care.”
“That’s not a compliment.”
“It’s a plea. Come with us, Lotte. Two weeks off grid. No boardrooms, no Wi-Fi, no press. You might even remember what daylight looks like.”
She hesitated. Every instinct screamed schedule, risk assessment, no. But she could hear her mother’s voice—the one that used to drag her outside to bike the dykes near Utrecht: You can’t design life; you have to live some of it.
"Two weeks?” she asked.
“You’ll survive.”
“If I don’t, you’re giving my keynote at the AI Summit.”
“Deal.”
She sighed, already opening her calendar.
"Fine. Send the details before I change my mind.”
"That’s my girl,” Martin said. “Oh, and one of the other guests is an F1 driver. Try not to scare him.”
She smiled for the first time that week.
“No promises.”
Chapter 1 - Base Camp
Phong Nha, Vietnam – February 2024
Rain gathered on the edge of the tarpaulin and fell in rhythmic drops onto the red clay below.
Charlotte Halston adjusted the strap of her rucksack for the third time and checked her watch. The group leader was running through safety procedures for the second time, waiting for the final participant.
Late.
Of course someone would be late.
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t care. This trip was meant to be a break. No phone, no calendar alerts, no meetings titled alignment session. Two days in and she already felt the itch to check email, to control something. Her phone sat zipped inside Martin Garrix’s waterproof case, turned off, the battery removed at his insistence. She felt half-blind without it.
“He’ll be here,” Martin murmured beside her, sensing the gathering storm behind her calm expression.
“He’s an F1 driver. They live in airports.”
She gave him a look. “He can drive at 200 miles an hour but can’t meet a schedule?”
Before he could reply, a commotion at the edge of camp: a tall figure in a grey McLaren hoodie jogged through the mud, waving an apology at the organisers. He was soaked, grinning, breathless.
"Sorry, wrong terminal, wrong bag, wrong everything,” he said, pulling off his cap and running a hand through damp curls. “Lando Norris. Promise I’m not usually this disorganised.”
Charlotte folded her arms. “Statistically, that seems unlikely.”
He blinked, then laughed, the sound disarming in its warmth. “You must be Charlotte. Martin warned me you run on precision time.”
“Precision works,” she said. “Especially underground, where chaos tends to kill people.”
Martin snorted. “Play nice, Lotte.”
Lando caught the nickname, tried it quietly. “Lotte,” he repeated, almost testing the syllables. His accent softened it. She felt the faintest jolt of awareness and immediately ignored it.
"Charlotte,” she corrected coolly.
"Right. Charlotte.”
A beat. “You really came on this willingly?”
"Define willingly.”
He grinned again, boyish, infuriatingly unbothered. His eyes were lighter than she’d expected, an unreadable blue-green that seemed to laugh before he spoke. He offered a hand; she hesitated, then took it. Firm, warm, steady.
He, meanwhile, was struck silent for half a second. The photos online hadn’t done her justice: sharp cheekbones, hair pulled back in a severe knot that somehow made her look even more elegant, eyes that measured everything. Power disguised as poise.
“Glad you could join us,” she said, releasing his hand.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he replied, and his smile said he meant it, even if he had no idea what he’d walked into.
During gear checks he hovered near her, trying to make conversation.
“So, you build robots or something?”
“Cybersecurity systems.”
“Cool. So… robots that stop other robots?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
She didn’t answer. He chuckled anyway.
When the guide explained the day’s trek, Charlotte listened, jotting mental notes. Lando tapped his helmet absently, glancing her way. She noticed the easy confidence in his movements—the kind that came from surviving chaos for a living—and felt, against her better judgement, a flicker of intrigue.
As they moved toward the trailhead, he fell into step beside her.
“You always this serious?”
“Only when I’m awake.”
“Good. I’ll work on that.”
She didn’t look at him, didn’t smile, but when he wasn’t watching, the corner of her mouth betrayed her.
And for the first time since she’d switched off her phone, Charlotte Halston felt something close to interest. The dangerous, inconvenient kind she couldn’t schedule or predict.