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They were tied to his back, coarse rope biting into his chest with every breath. His wings sat folded so tightly against him they ached, feathers bent where they shouldn't be.
Japan hadn't gone particularly well for Red Bull.
At least two of the four cars had scored points.
Neither of them had been him.
So this was what he deserved.
According to them.
He was just glad nothing had happened to the rookie.
VCARB wasn't expected to perform miracles. Their car wasn't good enough for that.
Red Bull's was supposed to be.
Which only made the irony funnier.
He glanced towards the VCARB hospitality. Another media day. Another ridiculous challenge. Arvid laughed as he swatted Liam across the face with a wing, bright white feathers catching the afternoon sun. Liam recoiled dramatically before shoving him back.
Neither of them had their wings tied.
His chest tightened.
He knows Liam knew this feeling.
Those two races last year.
The rope.
The weight.
The constant reminder to stay small.
When Liam returned to VCARB, he looked freer.
Not immediately.
Isack remembered sitting beside him in the garage after one of the debriefs, fingers working carefully at the rope despite Liam insisting he could do it himself even though he hadn't for the first two races he had in VCARB.
He'd untied them anyway.
Liam hadn't deserved that.
…
Maybe he did.
Australia.
Twice now.
A crash to open 2025.
Another to begin 2026.
Maybe it was just Australia.
Maybe it was him.
Everyone kept telling him he belonged here. That he was a natural. That this was what he had been born to do.
Lately, none of it felt true.
Lately…
He couldn't stop thinking.
---
"He's waiting for you."
The words came from one of the mechanics after media.
Isack simply nodded.
Mekies sat across from him, hands folded neatly atop the desk.
"We've noticed a decline in performance."
Isack kept his eyes on the floor.
"Japan."
Silence.
"And now Miami."
Another pause.
"We can't keep rewarding inconsistency."
"…I understand."
A sigh.
"Take your shirt off, please."
The polo landed neatly on the chair beside him.
Cold air prickled against the black feathers resting against his back.
Someone stepped behind him.
Leather gloves.
Metal.
He stared at the wall.
White.
There was a framed photo hanging crooked.
Someone should really fix that.
…
It hurt.
God, it hurt.
He didn't remember screaming.
By the time he blinked again, thick bandages circled his chest.
His shirt was folded over the back of the chair.
He pulled it back on.
Buttoned it.
Thanked them and walked out.
His driver's room was quiet.
The Red Bull polo hit the floor.
A clean shirt rested on the bench beside him.
He reached for it.
The door opened.
"Zack?"
Liam froze.
The other looking Isack over.
There was nothing.
No black wings tucked behind his shoulders.
Just white bandages wrapped around his torso, already beginning to stain crimson near his back.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
"…Where are your wings?"
Isack blinked.
"My…"
His hand drifted over his shoulder.
Nothing met his fingertips.
"Oh."
His voice was small.
"They're-"
He frowned.
"…Right."
As though he'd only just remembered.
"They took them."
Liam's face drained of colour.
"They what."
"It was my fault."
"No."
"They said my performances–"
"I don't care what they fucking said."
The words cracked through the room.
Liam was already moving, stopping just short of Isack as if he was afraid touching him would make everything real.
"They can't do this."
"They already did."
The door opened again.
"Liam? The mechanics said–"
Arvid stopped.
His eyes landed on the bandages.
Then the empty space behind Isack.
His own white wings instinctively folded tighter against his back.
"..What happened"
Nobody answered him.
Liam's hands had curled into fists so tightly his knuckles were white.
If Laurent Mekies had walked into the room at that moment..
There wouldn't have been enough of him left to hold another debrief.