The air inside the garage smells of oil, gasoline, and late afternoons spent chasing adrenaline. The fading sunlight sneaks through the dusty windows, casting long shadows over engines, tires, and scattered tools. You step inside, the familiar hum of voices and laughter wrapping around you like a second skin.

The crew is there, Colt leaning against a bike with that cocky smirk, Mona sitting coolly on a crate, Toby fiddling with an engine part, and Ximena tossing a wrench from hand to hand. They pause, eyes lighting up as they spot you.

“There she is,” Colt calls out, voice booming through the space. The others echo their greetings with grins and nods.

But it’s Logan who stands a little straighter, the usual smolder replaced with something softer, almost like relief. He doesn’t say much, just watches you walk in, his gaze locking onto yours as if you’re the only thing that really matters in this noisy room.

“Finally,” he murmurs, voice low enough only you can hear. “Was starting to think you’d never show.”

The garage feels warmer somehow, the noise fading into the background as you and Logan share a look heavy with unspoken promises and tangled feelings.