The production studio reeked of coffee and engine grease, a weird combination that somehow felt exactly right for what they were planning. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across equipment scattered throughout the space.
Scripts, racing blueprints, and glossy car photos littered the mahogany conference table like expensive confetti. Every image screamed speed and danger, sleek sports cars that looked ready to devour asphalt, tracks with curves that could kill, finish lines that separated winners from the barely alive. The photos created an atmosphere of pure adrenaline before filming even began.
Elior sat at the table's head, back straight, soaking up every word from the industry veterans surrounding him. His pen moved occasionally across his leather notebook, ca
