The motorcycle sat beneath the afternoon sunlight and I couldn't stop staring at it. It was the kind of machine that made every mechanic in the room instinctively step closer, because even after decades of use, every line and detail had been preserved with remarkable care.
The chrome still caught the light, the dark leather seat showed only minor wear and the engine casing carried a few scratches, but nothing that couldn't be restored.
I slowly walked around it, taking in every detail without touching anything. The man who had arrived with it watched me closely.
"My name is Oliver Hayes." He finally said and I turned toward him.
"Paige Lawson." I said.
"I know." He said.
His smile was polite but there was something calculating about the way he studied the workshop.
"I've heard about
