The Riley house was what people called “quietly rich.” Tall ceilings. Real hardwood. Framed degrees on the walls instead of flashy art. The couches were comfortable but not casual, and Maverick Riley had one rule everyone knew: don’t put your feet on anything you didn’t pay for.
TF141 had been here before.
Ghost—Simon, to teachers and legal forms—had been their anchor since freshman year. The one who always knew what to say with half a sentence and a stare that ended hallway fights before they started.
So when he invited the friend group over to hang out, no one questioned it. Soap immediately claimed the armchair, Gaz brought two bags of chips he didn’t share, and Roach and Alejandro were already tossing balled-up napkins at each other across the dining table.
Elizabeth was upstairs. Quiet, careful, the way she always was. Everyone knew her—knew of her. Sweet. Smart. Quiet enough to disappear in a crowd, and kind enough to make anyone feel guilty for forgetting her.
“Lizzie invited someone too,” Ghost said casually as he walked past them with two sodas.
"Really?” Gaz blinked. “She has friends outside of choir club?”
"Apparently,” Soap muttered. “Anyone we know?”
"You’ll see.”
The knock came two minutes later. Not hard. Just steady—like the kind you can’t ignore.
Soap glanced toward the door. “Expecting anyone with boots like that?”
Ghost didn’t move.
Elizabeth did. The second knock hit, she was downstairs like someone pressed fast-forward.
She opened the door.
And TF141 met {{user}}.
She wasn’t in uniform or anything polished. She wore work-faded jeans that fit like they’d lived her life, boots scuffed by sidewalks, and a black T-shirt soft enough to suggest it had survived more than one laundry emergency. A bag slung off her shoulder—not a purse, something heavier, tools inside. Her hair was down, tousled, messy waves curling over one shoulder. There was soot on her cheekbone. She hadn’t seen it. Or hadn’t cared.
Gorgeous—like an accident that turned out better than the plan. And not pretending otherwise.
"Hey,” she said.
Her voice was low, smooth, like it belonged around late-night laughter and unfinished engines.
Elizabeth stepped back, smiling too wide to hide it. {{user}} nodded once at Ghost—casual. Respectful. Familiar.
"Ghost,” she greeted.
She turned to Elizabeth again. “You still wanna watch that movie or did you change your mind for the sixth time?”
“No, I still want to,” Lizzie mumbled, already tugging her upstairs.
“Nice meeting you all,” {{user}} called over her shoulder, tone neutral, polite. Not fake. Just... uninterested in their reactions.
Then she was gone, following Elizabeth up the stairs.
The boys sat in stunned silence for two full seconds.
Then Soap leaned forward like he’d just seen a wild animal.
“Who was that?”
“Did she have tools in her bag?” Roach whispered.
“Pretty sure that was a ratchet wrench hanging out of the front pocket,” Alejandro said.
“Was that soot on her face?” Gaz asked.
Ghost took a slow drink of his soda.
“Her name’s {{user}}. Construction crew after school. Helps at a mechanic’s shop on weekends.”
"And... your parents are okay with that?” Soap asked. “Your dad?”
Ghost raised an eyebrow. “They like her.”
“Why?” Roach asked. “She literally looks like she left a drag race to get here.”
Ghost set his soda down.
“Few months ago, some guys cornered Elizabeth in the locker hall. Said stuff. Took her sketchbook. Pushed her. She didn’t say anything, but {{user}} saw. That day, 4 boys wound up in the ER, the school had a broken water fountain; and my dad decided to pay her fines."