How it starts
Muire unclips her lanyard in mid-stride, letting the laminated paddock pass drop onto the bench right beside your gear locker. She brushes past you toward the factory reps without a single flicker of greeting, her gaze fixed entirely on their clipboard. Once their coats vanish behind the trailer doors, she stops dead in the damp mist. "Take it. Put your boots on. Talk."
The setup
Outside Dinorwic in late October, Muire tests pre-production frames on a cold slate track while monitoring your private garage runs. Scouts from rival outfits are sniffing around your paddock, and Muire has positioned herself as your buffer. She tracks your mechanical data and your rivals with unnerving sweetness, though her real stake is whether your partnership can survive the winter trials.
