Wrench & Blood

The New Normal

Six months passed like a slow rain.

Adam fell into a routine. Wake at six. Walk to the garage. Open the doors. Turn on the radio. Fix cars. Close the doors. Walk home. Eat dinner with Sandra. Watch TV. Sleep.

Repeat.

The sameness should have been suffocating. Instead, it was a balm. No gunshots. No midnight calls. No threats whispered in dark parking lots. Just the hum of engines and the smell of grease.

Sandra had moved into his apartment. Not officially. Her toothbrush appeared in the bathroom. Her books on the nightstand. Her clothes in the closet. They never talked about it. They didn't need to.

“You're getting soft,” she said one morning, watching him sip coffee at the kitchen table.

“I'm getting comfortable. There's a difference.”

“Is there?”

“Comfortable means I'm not waiting for the other shoe to drop. Soft means I can't fight when it does.”

“And you can still fight?”

Adam set his mug down. “I can always fight.”

---

Leo came to visit once a month.

He was in his final year of college, applying to law schools. The kid who'd once hidden in a van, shaking and scared, was now arguing about constitutional law and citing Supreme Court cases.

“You've changed,” Adam said.

“I hope so. I was a mess.”

“We were all a mess. The question is what we became after.”

Leo looked at him. “What did you become?”

“I'm still figuring that out.”

---

Micheal called every Sunday.

He was still in Oregon, still working on his cousin's fishing boat. The call was always the same: weather, fish, small talk. But the pauses were shorter now. The silences less heavy.

“You ever think about coming back?” Adam asked one afternoon.

“To Blackhaven? No.”

“To visit.”

“Maybe. Someday. When the ghosts aren't so loud.”

“The ghosts never stop being loud. You just learn to ignore them.”

Micheal was quiet for a moment. “That's the saddest thing you've ever said.”

“It's the truest.”

---

Elena and Sofia had moved to a small town in Oregon—not near Micheal, but close enough. They called Sandra every few days, sent pictures of their new life. A small house. A garden. A dog.

“She looks happy,” Sandra said, showing Adam a photo of Sofia grinning in front of a tomato plant.

“She deserves it.”

“We all deserve it.”

“Do we?”

Sandra looked at him. “Yes. We do.”

---

The garage was busy.

Word had spread that the new owner was honest, fair, and didn't cut corners. Customers came from across the city—not just Iron District, but Southside, the Docks, even the Spire.

Adam worked long hours. He hired two mechanics—a young woman named Teresa who could rebuild an engine blindfolded, and an older man named Gus who'd been fixing cars since before Adam was born.

“You're building something,” Sandra said.

“I'm just trying to stay busy.”

“You're building a future. Whether you admit it or not.”

---

Then the letter came.

It was a Tuesday. Rain was falling—the soft, persistent rain of Blackhaven autumn. Adam was under a pickup truck, changing the oil, when Gus called out from the office.

“Adam! Mail for you.”

Adam slid out from under the truck, wiped his hands on a rag, and walked to the office. The envelope was plain white, no return address. His name was handwritten in careful script.

He opened it.

Inside was a single sheet of paper. A photograph was paperclipped to the top corner.

The photograph showed a woman. Mid-thirties. Dark hair. Sharp eyes. She was standing in front of a warehouse—not one Adam recognized—with her arms crossed, looking at the camera like she was daring someone to challenge her.

Below the photograph, a message:

“Adam Kosta –

My name is Nina Reyes. I run the Crows. You killed my partner, Leo Cross. I don't want revenge. I want to talk.

Tomorrow. Noon. The Rusted Spoke.

Come alone.

- N.R.”

Adam read the letter twice.

The Crows. He'd heard the name. A small crew, based in The Cut, specializing in theft and information. They'd stayed neutral during the war with Cindy—too small to matter, too smart to pick a side.

But Leo Cross? He'd never mentioned a partner. Never mentioned Nina.

“What is it?” Sandra asked, walking into the office.

“A letter. From someone named Nina Reyes. She says she was Cross's partner.”

“Cross had a partner?”

“Apparently.”

“What does she want?”

“To talk.”

“Don't go.”

“I have to.”

“Why?”

“Because if she wanted revenge, she wouldn't send a letter. She'd send a bullet.”

---

The Rusted Spoke was crowded at noon.

Adam walked in, scanned the room, and found her in the back booth. Nina Reyes was smaller than her photograph suggested—maybe five-four, with wiry arms and a face that had seen too much. She wore a leather jacket, jeans, and boots that had walked miles.

Adam sat down across from her.

“You're Nina.”

“You're Adam.” She didn't offer her hand. “Thanks for coming.”

“I almost didn't.”

“But you did. That means something.”

The waitress came. They ordered coffee.

“You said Cross was your partner.”

“He was. We grew up together in The Cut. Ran together for fifteen years. He was more than a partner. He was family.”

“And you don't want revenge?”

“I want answers.” Nina leaned forward. “Cross was a killer. I knew that. But he wasn't a monster. He followed orders. He did what he was told. And in the end, Cindy threw him away like garbage.”

“He died in a warehouse. I was there.”

“I know. I saw the body.” Her voice cracked, just a little. “The funeral was small. Just me and a few old friends. No one else came.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. He made his choices.” She took a sip of coffee. “But here's the thing. Before he died, Cross told me something. He said there was someone above Cindy. Someone pulling the strings that even she didn't know about.”

Adam's blood went cold. “What?”

“A man. Older. Wealthy. Connected. Cross never met him, never knew his name. But he heard rumors. Whispers. A shadow in the background of every deal, every shipment, every murder.”

“Victor Markov.”

“No. Before Victor. Before Volkov. Before all of them.” Nina set her cup down. “Cross called him the Ghost. Because no one had ever seen him. But everyone knew he was there.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want to find him. And I think you can help.”

---

Adam leaned back.

The diner hummed around them—the clatter of plates, the murmur of conversations, the hiss of the espresso machine. Normal sounds. Everyday sounds. But they felt distant, muffled, like he was hearing them through water.

“Why would I help you?”

“Because if the Ghost exists, he's still out there. And eventually, he'll come for you. You took down his operation. You killed his people. He won't forget that.”

“You don't know that.”

“I know men like him. They don't forgive. They don't forget. They wait.”

“And if I help you find him? What then?”

“Then we destroy him. Together.”

Adam shook his head. “I'm done. I'm not a soldier anymore. I'm a mechanic.”

“You're a soldier who's pretending to be a mechanic. There's a difference.”

“Everyone keeps saying that.”

“Because it's true.”

---

Sandra was waiting in the car.

“Well?”

“She claims there's someone else. Someone above Cindy. Someone even Victor doesn't know about.”

“And you believe her?”

“I don't know. But I'm going to find out.”

“How?”

“The same way I always do. One step at a time.”

---

That night, Adam called Miller.

“I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“I need you to look into something. A name. Or a lack of one. Cross mentioned a person—someone above Cindy. Someone no one ever saw.”

“The Ghost,” Miller said.

Adam froze. “You know about him?”

“We've heard rumors. Whispers. Nothing concrete. No evidence. No witnesses. Just... stories.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because I didn't think it was real. And because I didn't want to send you on a wild goose chase.”

“It's real. Nina Reyes confirmed it.”

“Nina Reyes. The leader of the Crows.”

“You know her?”

“I know of her. Small-time. Mostly harmless. But if she's involved—”

“She wants to find him. She wants my help.”

“Don't.”

“Why not?”

“Because if the Ghost is real, he's more dangerous than Cindy, Volkov, and Victor combined. Going after him will get you killed.”

“Not going after him will get me killed eventually. He'll come for me.”

“Then run. Disappear. Start over somewhere else.”

“I'm tired of running.”

Miller sighed. “I'll look into it. But I can't promise anything.”

“That's all I ask.”

---

The next day, Adam met Nina again.

This time, he brought Sandra.

They sat in a different diner—a nondescript place on the edge of The Cut, where no one asked questions and the coffee was terrible.

“I don't trust you,” Adam said.

“Good. Trust is earned.”

“How do I know you're not setting me up?”

“Because if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. I know where you live. I know where you work. I know your routine.”

Sandra tensed. “That's not reassuring.”

“It's not meant to be.” Nina looked at Adam. “I'm taking a risk coming to you. Cross was my family. You killed him. By rights, I should hate you. But I don't. Because I know why you did it. And because I know Cross would have done the same in your position.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“Your question is how can you trust me. The answer is you can't. Not yet. But you can watch me. Test me. Give me small tasks and see if I follow through. That's how trust is built.”

Adam studied her. She didn't flinch.

“Fine. First task. Find me proof that the Ghost exists. Not rumors. Not whispers. Evidence.”

“That could take months.”

“Then start now.”

---

Nina left.

Sandra watched her go. “She's dangerous.”

“I know.”

“But you're going to work with her anyway.”

“I'm going to use her. There's a difference.”

“Is there?”

Adam didn't answer.

---

The weeks that followed were strange.

Adam continued his routine—garage, home, garage, home. But underneath the surface, something was building. Nina sent messages. Brief. Cryptic. Always from different numbers.

“Found a name. Dmitri Volkov. Not our Volkov. Different.”

“Following a lead in Chicago. Will update soon.”

“The Ghost has a weakness. A woman. Will explain when I return.”

Adam forwarded each message to Miller. The agent responded with silence.

“You're not going to say anything?” Adam asked during a phone call.

“I'm waiting for something concrete. So far, all I have are rumors and speculation.”

“Nina is good. If she says she found something, she found something.”

“Nina is a criminal. She has her own agenda. Don't forget that.”

“I never forget.”

---

Then, on a rainy Tuesday, Nina showed up at the garage.

She was alone. Her hair was wet. Her eyes were bright.

“I found him.”

Adam set down his wrench. “Who?”

“The Ghost. His name is Anton Volkov. Dmitri's uncle. Vladimir's brother.”

“Another Volkov?”

“The first Volkov. The one who started everything. He's been in hiding for years—some say in Russia, some say in South America. But he's been running the operation from afar, using his nephews as puppets.”

“And Cindy?”

“Cindy thought she was working for Dmitri. She didn't know about Anton. Neither did Victor. Neither did anyone.”

“How did you find this out?”

“I broke into a safe house in Chicago. Found documents. Letters. Photographs.” Nina pulled out her phone and showed him a picture.

An old man. Gray hair, sunken eyes, a face like cracked leather. He was sitting on a porch, somewhere warm, a glass of wine in his hand.

“That's Anton Volkov.”

“Where was this taken?”

“The metadata says Argentina. But he moves. Always moving.”

Adam stared at the photograph. “Why now? Why come out of hiding?”

“Because you destroyed his network. He wants revenge.”

“Then let him come.”

“He won't come himself. He'll send someone. Someone we won't see coming.”

Adam handed the phone back. “Then we'll be ready.”

---

That night, Adam called a meeting.

The crew gathered in the basement—Sandra, Leo on speakerphone, Micheal on another line. Elena was patched in from Oregon.

“There's someone else. Someone above everyone we've faced. His name is Anton Volkov. He's been hiding in South America, running the operation from afar.”

“Another Volkov?” Micheal said. “How many are there?”

“Too many. But this one is the original. The one who started everything.”

“What do we do about him?” Sandra asked.

“We find him. And we finish this.”

“How?”

Adam looked at the photograph on the wall—Danny's face, young and smiling.

“One step at a time.”