Varg's POV I pulled into Jacob’s parking lot and shut off the engine, exhaling a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The familiar scent of oil, gasoline, and metal filled the air, a signature of Jacob’s place. The sky had darkened, casting long shadows over his yard, where the faint sound of metal clinking against metal echoed.Stepping out of the car, I shut the door behind me and took in the sight before me. Jacob was in his front yard, hunched over his motorcycle, his broad shoulders flexing as he tightened a bolt. His hands, coated in grease, moved with practiced ease, like he was born to fix things. The old bike sat on its stand, partially disassembled, its chrome catching the dim light from the porch.He didn’t notice me at first, too focused on his work. I took a moment to watch him, remembering how Jacob had always found comfort in fixing things, machines, weapons, even people. It was his way of staying grounded.When he finally looked up and saw me, his brows lifted slig
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