"Of all time?! Why now?!" Zixuan cried out, her voice slicing through the stillness.
Her hands were buried deep in the engine, grease smudging her sleeves, arms trembling as she yanked a line, checked a connection, adjusted a cap—anything to will the damn thing back to life.
But nothing worked.
She shoved a cable back into place with a frustrated grunt, her breath ragged as she tried to swallow down the rising panic. Her hands were shaking. Her eyes burned.
This wasn't happening.
Not now. Not now.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement—Mateo, running toward them, clothes in shambles, hair disheveled, boots barely fastened. His chest rose and fell with uneven breath, panic crawling across his features.
"My motorcycle engine isn't turning on either," he announced, his voice hoarse, broken. "It won't even respond. It's like the battery's dead—but it was fully charged yesterday, I swear."
