The air in the garage was thick with the honest scent of oil, metal filings, and a faint, lingering musk of burnt fuel—a smell Kaiden had consciously chosen over the sterile scent of forgotten blood and gunpowder. The Quiet Cave—that’s what he called  his small, isolated motorcycle repair shop, tucked away near the docks of a forgettable coastal town. He lived in the apartment above, a sparse space where the few windows faced the empty sea, not the watchful eyes of the land ...