Mason
We finished my bike two days after Ryder told us about Daniel Reyes, working long hours to push through the last of the rebuild despite the weight hanging over all of us. There was something almost necessary about it, about having somewhere to put our hands while our minds kept circling back to a dead man neither of us had ever met, whose name now sat tangled up with Samuel Carter's in ways none of us fully understood yet.
Zoe worked beside me through most of it, her bandaged knuckle healing slowly, her focus sharper than ever despite everything sitting heavy behind her eyes. We didn't talk much about Reyes while we worked. Some things needed distance before you could look at them straight on, and I understood that instinct better than most people could.
"That's the last of it," s
