Nyra had always trusted engines more than people.

Engines lied less.

They made noise before they failed. Shuddered before they broke. Leaked, smoked, overheated, screamed. A machine told you exactly where it hurt if you knew how to listen.

People were messier.

People smiled before betrayal. Loved you before leaving. Promised safety with one hand while reaching for a knife with the other.

Nyra slid back under the armored SUV and shoved both thoughts down where she kept every other inconvenient feeling.

Fix the problem first.

Panic later.

The transmission line was torn near the bracket. The casing had been hit hard enough to bend. She could patch it, but the repair would be ugly and temporary. An hour on the road, maybe two if the driver didn't treat potholes like personal enemies.

Above her, Ghost's boots remained planted close enough to be annoying.

"You can stand somewhere else," she said.

"No."

"Wow. A full sentence. We're bonding."

No answer.

Typical.

Nyra reached for the clamp beside her hip and found it missing.

A second later, a gloved hand lowered it into view.

She stared at it.

Then at the black glove.

Then back at the clamp.

"You read minds too, or just loom professionally?"

Ghost's hand remained there.

Nyra took the clamp, careful not to brush his fingers.

Not because she was afraid.

Because the entire garage had gone weirdly attentive every time she spoke to him, and Nyra did not feel like giving the murder club a group bonding experience.

"Thank you," she muttered.

Ghost said nothing.

But he didn't move away.

She worked in silence for almost five minutes. Real silence this time, broken only by the bass from upstairs, the metallic scrape of tools, Reed's occasional pained breathing, and Kane snapping low instructions to the others.

Names sorted themselves through Nyra's head as they moved.

Kane, second-in-command. Jaw scar. Permanently irritated.

Reed, wounded, elegant, green-grey eyes, acting like getting stabbed was an aesthetic inconvenience.

Lucas, dark curls and expensive rings, treating the entire situation like entertainment.

Elias, the broad quiet one near the garage entrance, checking sight lines and pretending he wasn't admiring her hydraulic lift.

Nik, pale blond and expressionless, stationed near the stairs with a rifle and dead winter eyes.

And Ghost.

Ghost wasn't a name.

Ghost was a warning label.

Nyra tightened the final clamp and slid out from under the SUV.

"Good news," she said.

Kane looked over. "It runs?"

"I said good news, not fiction."

Lucas laughed.

Ghost looked at the SUV. "How long?"

"Long enough to get you out of my garage and hopefully into someone else's problem."

Kane stepped closer. "How long, exactly?"

Nyra wiped her hands on a rag. "If your driver behaves? Ninety minutes. Maybe two hours."

Elias finally spoke from the doorway, voice slow and southern. "I always behave with a wounded vehicle."

Nyra pointed at him. "You. I like you."

Lucas clutched his chest. "That was fast."

"You look like you'd flirt with a toaster if it had a pulse."

"I don't need the pulse."

Kane looked toward the ceiling like he was asking God for extraction.

Nyra almost smiled for real.

Almost.

Then her eyes caught the black insignia again through the open rear panel.

The smile thinned.

BLACK VEIL.

She had spent two years chasing pieces of her brother through places where good people didn't go twice. Illegal fight clubs. Shipping yards. Backroom weapons auctions. Garages that smelled like gasoline and fear. Every lead had either rotted in her hands or asked for more money than she had.

The symbol had been one of the few things that stayed consistent.

A veil.

A blade.

And now it was sitting inside her garage attached to a team of men who looked like they buried their secrets in unmarked graves.

Nyra turned away before Ghost could see her looking again.

Too late.

He always seemed to be looking.

Reed shifted on the stool and immediately regretted it, his face tightening.

Nyra grabbed a roll of medical tape and crossed to him.

"Don't move like that unless you want my stitches to open."

Reed gave her a faint smile. "You worried about me?"

"I'm worried about cleaning fees."

"You always this mean to patients?"

"I stitched you. That's intimacy where I'm from."

Lucas made a delighted choking sound.

Kane said, "Do not encourage her."

Nyra taped the gauze down securely. "Too late. I encourage myself."

Reed's gaze flicked past her to Ghost. His amusement faded quickly.

Nyra felt it again, that subtle change in the air whenever Ghost became the center of gravity. No command. No threat. Just his attention shifting, and every man nearby remembering exactly who he was.

She turned.

Ghost had moved closer.

Not to Reed.

To her.

He stopped just outside arm's reach. Close enough that Nyra could see small scratches on the edge of his mask and dried blood caught in the seams of his glove.

"You know the insignia," he said.

Not a question.

The garage seemed to shrink.

Kane's posture changed immediately.

Lucas stopped smiling.

Elias looked away from the entrance.

Nik's rifle dipped a fraction lower, not aimed, but aware.

Reed's mouth curved faintly, like the night had finally become interesting.

Nyra's heart kicked hard.

Careful.

She leaned one hip against the workbench and raised an eyebrow.

"Do I?"

Ghost watched her.

God, he was annoying.

"You always accuse mechanics of logo literacy?"

"You reacted."

"Maybe I'm allergic to ugly design."

Kane stepped forward. "Careful."

Nyra's eyes cut to him. "With what? My opinions?"

Ghost lifted one hand slightly.

Kane stopped.

Again with that silent control.

Nyra wondered what it cost a person to become the kind of man people obeyed before he finished moving.

Ghost's voice lowered. "Where did you see it?"