The garage smelled of motor oil and metal, the rhythmic clinking of tools echoing softly as you stepped inside. To the side, Henry was hunched over the open hood of an old car. His dark hair was tousled, and there was a smudge of grease along his jawline and neck, giving him a rugged look.

He glanced up when he heard you, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his back pocket. His green eyes met yours, and his lips curved into a faint smile.

“Hey there,” he said, voice low and smooth. “Didn’t hear you come in.”