Ethan was quiet for a moment. No, he admitted. Not exactly like this. Dutch's face fell slightly, and he glanced at Marcus, a silent warning, passing between two old friends. But Ethan wasn't finished.
But my dad's had bikes come through the shop that other places gave up on. machines people had already been told were unfixable by three or four different mechanics before they ever got to us. He looked down at his hands. There's this thing that happens when a machine's been declared dead by enough experts. Everybody stops actually looking at it and starts looking for reasons it can't be saved. That's not the same as it actually being unsavable.
It's just easier to believe it's hopeless than to keep looking. Dutch didn't say anything to that. He didn't need to. Marcus felt something tighten behind his ribs. Not doubt this time, but the particular ache of hearing a truth he hadn't let himself think about directly.
Three specialists, three men with more letters after their names than Ethan Carter would probably ever have. And every one of them had left this garage more certain the bike couldn't be fixed than when they'd arrived. "Show me," Marcus said. "Show me what you do." Ethan nodded.
And for the first time since he'd walked through the gate, something like real focus settled over him. the nervous energy burning away, replaced by the same quiet stillness his father had probably drilled into him across a 100 afternoons in a garage outside Flagstaff. I'll need some tools, basic stuff, nothing fancy. We've got a full shop, kid. Take whatever you want. I don't want whatever I want, Ethan said.
I want basic tools. A multimeter, a thermal scanner if you've got one. Nothing else. Sal frowned. You don't want the diagnostic computer.
Faulner had a rig that cost more than my house. I saw what the diagnostic computer told you, Ethan said. It told you everything was fine. That's the problem. It's built to look for one big failure.
It's not built to notice four small things whispering to each other. He straightened up, brushing his palms against his jeans again. I don't need something smarter than the problem. I need something that'll let me actually watch it happen in real time. Nobody in the garage argued with that, mostly because nobody had an answer to it.
It was Dutch who fetched the multimeter. It was Cutter of all people, the prospect who'd nearly turned Ethan away at the gate an hour earlier, who found an old thermal scanner in a supply closet nobody had touched in months and handed it over without a word. Something like respect starting to show in his face where suspicion had been before. Ethan crouched back down beside the engine and got to work.