The air in Voon's Garage was thick with the tang of oil and the hum of machinery. Elara Voon, her dark hair tied back with a frayed bandana, hunched over a vintage motorcycle that looked like it had rolled out of a museum. Her fingers danced across the engine, coaxing life into rusted parts with a precision that made her brother, Torin, call her a "gear witch." Today, though, her focus wavered. The client who would dropped off this beauty was due any minute, and something about their cryptic note "Fix it no questions." had her curiosity buzzing like a loose wire.
Lowtide was quiet this morning, the district's narrow streets lined with weathered shops and salt-crusted homes. Beyond the garage's open shutter, the Veylora harbor sparkled under a rare clear sky, its waves whispering secrets from the sea. Elara tightened a bolt, her hazel eyes narrowing as she tested the throttle. The engine purred, a low, satisfied growl. She grinned. "That's my girl," she murmured, patting the bike's frame.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel outside, and a shadow fell across the garage floor. Elara looked up, wiping her hands on her overalls. A young man stood in the doorway, his tailored jacket out of place against Lowtide's grit. He was tall, with sharp cheekbones and storm-gray eyes that scanned the garage like he was mapping it. Elara's first thought was Hightower. Nobody from Veylora's elite district dressed like that crisp, expensive, untouchable."You the one who left me this relic?" Elara asked, nodding at the motorcycle.
The man's lips twitched into a half smile. "Guilty. Name's Cass. You are Elara, right? The one who can make anything run again?"
She raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the warmth in his voice. "That's me. She's ready to ride, but I'm curious why a Hightower type like you trusts a Lowtide shop with a bike this rare."
Cass laughed, a sound that felt too easy for someone who looked like he belonged in a boardroom. "Let's just say I like to keep things discreet. Besides, I heard you are the best."
Elara crossed her arms, studying him. He wasn't wrong, but flattery didn't pay the bills. The Voons' garage was barely scraping by, especially with the Drayce family's shipping empire squeezing every small business in Lowtide. She pushed the thought aside. "Ride's fixed. Want a test run?"
Cass stepped closer, his eyes lighting up as he ran a hand over the bike's chrome. "You rebuilt the carburetor? That is not stock."
"Stock was junk," Elara said, smirking. "I scavenged parts from a scrapped racer. She'll outrun anything in Hightower now."
He let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "You are wasted in this garage, you know that?"
"Tell that to the rent," she shot back, but her grin betrayed her. There was something about this guy Cass, was it?that did not fit the Hightower mold. No arrogance, no condescension. Just curiosity. Like he saw her, not just some Lowtide mechanic.
Their banter was cut short by Torin's voice from the back of the garage. "Elara! You flirting with customers again?" He emerged, wiping grease from his hands, his broad frame filling the space. His eyes narrowed at Cass, the air shifting. "Hightower, huh? What is your deal?"
Cass raised his hands, all charm. "Just here for the bike, friend. Your sister's a genius."
Torin grunted, unconvinced. "Keep it that way. We do not need trouble from your kind."
Elara shot her brother a look. "Torin, chill. He is paying." But as Cass handed her a stack of bills more than the job was worth she caught a flicker of something in his expression. Guilt? Secrecy? Before she could press, he was straddling the bike, revving the engine.
"Thanks, Elara," he said, his voice low, like a promise. "I will be back."
As he roared out of the garage, leaving a trail of dust and questions, Elara felt a spark she could not explain. Something told her this was not the last she would see of Cass and that meeting him might just upend her world.