MIKE
The sharp, metallic tang of morning frost hung heavy inside the estate’s private multi-car garage. It was barely 6:00 AM, and the towering glass-and-steel structure was dead silent save for the low, aggressive hum of the heater system. I stood by the workbench, my golden-blonde hair messy and my eyes bloodshot from a total lack of sleep. I was holding a wrench I hadn’t used, my knuckles white as I stared out the tinted glass toward the gravel path leading down to the guest cottage.
The heavy thud of the garage’s side door breaking open signaled their arrival.
Jake walked in first, tossing a sleek black tablet onto the hood of my sports car. His usual playful green eyes were completely deadpan, stripped of their typical witty edge. Chad followed a step behind, his massive frame
