Marlowe
The days following Dorian's conversation carried a different quality than anything I'd experienced in months — not simple, not fully resolved, but settled in a way that made ordinary moments feel considerably more possible than they had in weeks.
I found myself, working through a routine repair in my garage bay, actually present in the task instead of half-distracted by grief or investigation or old, unresolved fear. The radio played something Nova had left on my station preset, and I hummed along without quite realizing I was doing it, hands moving through familiar motions with an ease that felt, suddenly, like genuine peace rather than simple distraction.
Wrench found me there, studying my expression with the particular knowing attention he brought to everything. "You look dif
