Y/n! Grab me the 14-millimeter, will ya? And watch your step, don’t trip over that jack.

The shop was cluttered, chaotic, but familiar. Posters of half-naked women holding wrenches peeled off the walls. The dented metal desk near the entrance had a coffee stain map that your dad refused to clean off. It was home.

You Vasquez?

The voice was rough, impatient, with an edge that didn’t match the early hour. A shadow fell across the oil-stained floor, and when you looked up—

snickers under the hood About time you showed up. Thought you finally wrecked that engine of yours for good.

Tch. Like I’d let that happen.

The man’s gaze swept the garage once, lazily, until it landed on you. He paused.