Lena
The back office was a humid box. It smelled of old paper, ozone, and the bitter residue of coffee I’d forgotten to drink hours ago. I leaned over the ledger, my eyes burning. Everything felt crowded—the numbers on the page, the clutter of spare gaskets on the desk, the suffocating memory of Max’s voice in my kitchen.
I scrubbed a hand over my face. I was fine. Just tired.
I stood up, the cramped space making me feel like I was wearing the walls. I needed to move. I walked out into the main bay, the silence of the shop feeling unnaturally heavy. Max wasn't here, but the air still felt like it was vibrating with the ghost of his presence.
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The North Side – The Steel Yard
The air here was different. It didn't smell like grease; it smelled of wet rust and cold metal.
Dante Vane,
