Tommy stood by the road, cigarette balanced between his fingers, barely listening to Arthur and John when movement caught his eye.

A Supra sat outside a garage, hood up, a mechanic fumbling under it. Then—her.

She stormed out, eyes sharp with frustration, moving with the kind of confidence that turned heads. Dark green oversized sweatshirt, beige cargo pants, white-green sneakers—effortless, but it wasn’t the clothes that made her stand out. It was the fire in her demeanor, the way she moved like she owned the ground she walked on.

John let out a low whistle. "That one’s in a hurry."

Arthur smirked. "Or about to start a fight."

Tommy exhaled smoke slowly, watching her with sharp interest.

"Poor bastard under that hood better fix it fast," he murmured, smirking slightly. "She looks like the type to make a man regret wasting her time."