I arrived at Lawson Customs before sunrise, and the parking lot was still dark when I pulled in.
The town had barely started waking up, but I was already thinking about the list of motorcycles waiting inside, the restoration contracts Oliver had given us, and the work we still needed to complete for the Iron Vipers.
I unlocked the front door, turned on the workshop lights, and immediately felt the familiar comfort of the garage settling around me.
The smell of oil and metal filled the air, and the rows of motorcycles waiting for repairs reminded me that life was still moving forward.
I walked into the office, started the coffee machine, and leaned against the counter while it brewed.
A few minutes later, the back door opened and Ben walked inside carrying his helmet.
“You're here ear
