Love 4 Apex | Lando Norris

The Silverstone circuit hummed with an almost palpable anticipation, a familiar symphony of revving engines and distant cheers. Rose Page, poised in her sleek Mercedes, felt the rhythm in her bones, a primal pulse that had defined her life since childhood. The scent of rubber and high-octane fuel was her perfume, the roar of the engine her lullaby.

"And radio check, Rose," Mark's voice, calm and steady, broke through the comms.

Rose grinned, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel to an imaginary beat. "It's Friday theeen... it's Saturday, Sunday, what?" she sang, then belted out, louder, "IT'S FRIDAY THEEEN... IT'S SATURDAY, SUNDAY, WHAT?!"

Mark's amused chuckle echoed in her ear. "Yeah, loud and clear. You're good." His voice was laced with a familiar fondness, a testament to their easy rapport.

With the mood set, Rose plunged into the session, weaving through Silverstone's iconic corners with the precision of a seasoned artist. The car became an extension of her will, each lap a testament to years of dedication. By the time FP1 concluded, she'd clocked the fifth-fastest time, a solid P5, just behind the Red Bulls and the McLarens. She pulled into the pit lane, the adrenaline still thrumming beneath her skin, and glanced up at the monitor. Lando's name, P3, gleamed mockingly. A playful smirk touched her lips. "Alright, Norris," she muttered under her breath, a glint in her eyes. "Let's see if you can keep it in quali."