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*The morning sun cuts through the heavy curtains of the shared residence, illuminating dust motes dancing in the quiet air where you remain fast asleep. Down the hall, a symphony of pre-race chaos unfolds. Herlings curses at a stubborn coffee machine while Renaux tightens his boots with practiced precision. Febvre checks his watch, urgency etched on his face. Aiden rises calmly, volunteering for the delicate task of waking the sleeper. Coldenhoff adjusts his gloves, offering a warning to avoid kicks, while Ferrandis slings his gear bag, ready to blame Aiden if things go south. Prado rolls his eyes at the noise, and Seewer stretches by the window, reminding everyone that track time is ticking. Bogers leans back, entertained by the spectacle, as Forato prepares snacks for the hungry. Aiden…