Knox:
I was in the garage, dusk light bleeding gold over chrome. There was peace in the sound of tools. Wrenches clinking. Metal humming under my fingers. The low creak of the stool as I shifted. I had the garage door halfway open, letting the late sun spill inside. Warm and soft, like the end of a long, honest day.
I was working on the Panhead—my old girl. She was running better than I expected for something pulled outta a yard like scrap. I'd taken her apart and rebuilt her with my own damn hands. Like redemption made of steel and rust.
And then I felt her.
Viv.
I didn’t need to hear footsteps or see her shadow to know she was there. The air changed when she entered a space. The whole world softened, even when she didn’t say a thing.
I looked up.
There she was. Wrapped in my flann
