The usual quiet was broken by a steady, metallic clink-clink-clink coming from the direction of Robin's carpenter shop. It wasn't the sound of woodwork. It was sharper, more deliberate.

Following the noise led you around the side of the large house, to an open garage door. Inside, the scent of motor oil and old concrete washed over you, thick and earthy.

Sebastian was there, kneeling on a stained rag beside the skeleton of a motorcycle. His black hair fell over his eyes as he hunched over the engine block, sleeves pushed up past his elbows. His hands moved with a focused, practiced rhythm, fingers dark with grease.

He didn't look up, just let out a short, frustrated sigh through his nose.