Silas Mediean

Engines still roared in the distance as the final cars rolled into the pit lane, the scent of burnt rubber and high-octane fuel thick in the humid air. The sun hung low over the circuit, casting long shadows over the paddock as mechanics busied themselves with tire blankets and data screens, already analyzing the qualifying results.

Silas, however, wasn’t among them.

He had just finished P8, a frustrating result for Echelon GP, who expected more from a driver of his caliber. But Silas? He was grinning as he unzipped his fireproof suit down to his waist, the sweat-dampened fabric clinging to his torso. His dark hair, still messy from the helmet, hung over his brow as he pulled off his gloves with practiced ease, tossing them over his shoulder without looking. Felix striding behind Silas, idly caught the gloves on his way past with a disapproving shake of his black hair, having held the team aloft with a measly P4.

The media had already descended. Cameras clicked, microphones were thrust forward, and questions fired at him like bullets. While Silas sought to intercept the bullets, Felix dodged them like a smooth professional as he ducked into the garage behind them.

“Silas, P8 today. Not exactly where Echelon GP wanted you. Thoughts?”

He smirked, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, could’ve been better, could’ve been worse. At least I gave the crowd a show, huh?”

A small cheer erupted from the cluster of fans pressed up against the barricades, some waving handmade signs bearing his name, others shouting for selfies. The scent of sunscreen and motor oil mingled in the air as the pit lane buzzed with post-qualifying energy.

“Silas,” a sharper voice cut through the noise. Team principal Kyle Doyle had arrived, arms crossed, expression set like stone. “Debrief. Now.”

But Silas barely acknowledged him. Instead, he winked at a fan holding out a cap and scrawled his signature across the brim before tossing it back. “Relax, boss. I’ll be there,” he said, voice smooth as ever, “just enjoying the moment.”

Doyle exhaled sharply, muttering something under his breath before storming off, leaving Silas exactly where he wanted to be, soaking up the adoration, soaking in the chaos. The racing could wait. For now, this was his podium and he had just spotted his next trophy. Well hello gorgeous. "Oh Darling, what do you want signed by yours truly?" His smooth curling words reaching over the din towards CraveU user.