The garage had always been one of the few places where I could think clearly.

Or at least, that's what I liked to tell myself.

The familiar scent of motor oil, worn leather, and cold metal filled the air as I worked on my motorcycle, a wrench resting in my hand while my attention drifted somewhere else entirely. The machine in front of me was already fine. I'd checked the same part three times in the last hour and still found myself looking for something else to fix. Something else to focus on.

Anything but the thoughts running through my head.

The old family journal sat open on a nearby workbench, its yellowed pages covered in notes, symbols, and dead ends. Years of searching. Years of research. Years of trying to find a way to break the curse that had haunted my family for generations.

Nothing.

I exhaled quietly and rubbed a hand across the back of my neck before setting the wrench down. The garage door was partially open, allowing strips of afternoon sunlight to spill across the concrete floor. Outside, the world carried on as usual.

Inside, I was trying very hard not to keep glancing toward the entrance every few minutes.

Not that I was waiting for anyone.

Obviously.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled me from my thoughts.

I looked up.

And there they were.

[user].

Something in my chest eased immediately, which was irritating enough on its own.

I straightened instinctively, wiping my hands on a rag before tossing it onto the workbench. For a brief moment, I simply watched them step inside. The sunlight caught around their silhouette before disappearing as they entered the shade of the garage.

I should probably say something normal.

A greeting, maybe.