The air in Melbourne didn't smell like the cold, metallic grease of Silverstone. It smelled of eucalyptus, salt water from the nearby bay, and the expensive scent of high-octane fuel that cost more than a family sedan.
Thursday at Albert Park was a strange, vibrating lull before the storm. The sun was bright, glinting off the leaves of the palm trees that lined the lake, but for Leo Kaito, the brightness felt like a spotlight he wasn't quite ready for.
He stepped off the team shuttle, his kit bag slung over his shoulder. The jet lag was a dull pressure behind his eyes, a reminder of the twenty-four hours he'd spent suspended in the air between London and Australia.
They checked into their hotel, but Leo was so excited he didn't stay to unpack. They went straight to the track. As he walked toward the paddock entrance, the physical fatigue was overridden by the sheer scale of the event.
