Marlowe
King found me alone in the garage that night, long after the showcase crowd had dispersed, and I could tell by the particular careful way he crossed the room that he'd come to say something he hadn't fully worked out how to say yet.
"You're still here."
"Couldn't sleep. Too wound up." I gestured at the bike, still gleaming under the work light. "Feels strange, honestly. Building something and having it actually be good. Not sure what to do with the feeling."
"Get used to it." He leaned against the bench across from me, arms crossed, something unguarded still lingering in his expression from earlier. "You're going to keep doing things that make people proud of you, whether you're ready for the feeling or not."
"That's an oddly specific prediction."
"Not a prediction. Observati
