Ailbeart Moireach was satisfied.
The pit exit at Baku is a long, claustrophobic funnel of concrete that spat him back onto the vibrating asphalt. The stop had been fast and clean, as expected from his crew. Ailbeart felt more confident the moment the car dropped off the jacks and surged forward again, the fresh tires cooperating immediately, and the car's balance scrumptious.
Races like this, on streets like Baku, were not only won by speed but by execution, and so far, everything around Ailbeart Moireach had been executed to perfection by Haddock Racing.
**Fantastic stint, Ailbeart**
**Clean exit**
**Heads up: Rennick is on the start-finish straight now. Full deployment. He's going to be right on your gearbox into Turn 1**
**You're defending on cold boots—watch the inside line**
"Copy. Tires are like ice. I'll make the car wide."
For some reason, Ailbeart smirked slightly beneath the helmet.
A sublime race.
