The rhythmic click of metal echoed through the garage as Lucien tightened the last bolt. The bike, Hunter's bike from the tournament, the one that had been practically shattered, now gleamed under the dim yellow lights. Piece by piece, he had rebuilt it. Bit by bit, it had come back to life. And seeing it whole again made a quiet pride swell in his chest.
He wiped sweat from his brow, stepping back to admire the machine.
Just then, Old Man Harris shuffled up behind him, mug of his mysterious herbal concoction steaming in his hand.
"Well, I'll be," Harris said, whistling under his breath. "This baby's as good as new, eh kid?" He took a long sip, the smell of whatever was in there strong enough to burn someone's lungs. "This bike was so wrecked I nearly buried it myself, but I knew you'd pull it up."
