Marlowe
King crouched beside Wrench, studying the corroded carburetor housing with a frown of genuine confusion. "That doesn't make sense. This land's been in my family for three generations. My grandfather built that house before Silas was even born."
"Didn't say Silas built the house," Wrench said, still turning the piece over carefully in his weathered hands. "Said he made this part. Custom casting work, the kind a man only does for someone he trusts enough to want it done right instead of done fast." He glanced up at King, something knowing in his expression. "Your father ever mention riding with Silas, before either of them made rank?"
King's brow furrowed, working through some distant, half-forgotten memory. "There was someone," he said slowly. "My father used to talk about an old
