And I didn't say I could fix it. I said I'd like to help. Something about the flatness in his voice, no bravado, no desperation, none of the performance the other hopefuls had brought with them made Cutter pause just long enough for Reaper to walk over and see what the holdup was. What's going on here? Kid wants to look at the bike.
Reaper studied Ethan the way a man studies something he's already decided not to trust. How old are you? 17. The word landed in the air and seemed to make everyone around the gate go quiet at once. 17.
A number that felt almost insulting given everything that had already happened. The engineers, the specialists, the millions of dollars, all of it circling a problem that had defeated grown men with decades of experience. And now a teenager wanted a turn. Reaper's laugh was short and humorless. You've got to be kidding me.
I'm not, kid. We've had three specialists, real specialist degrees on the wall equipment worth more than your daddy's whole garage and every single one of them walked away with nothing. What exactly do you think you're going to see that they didn't Ethan didn't flinch? I don't know yet. I haven't looked.
That's not an answer. It's the only honest one I've got. Something in that response irritated Reaper in a way he couldn't quite name the calm of it. Maybe the refusal to sell himself the way every other hopeful had tried to. Go home, kid.
This isn't a place for Reaper. Marcus's voice cut through the crowd before Reaper could finish. He'd been standing near the garage close enough to hear the whole exchange, and something about the boy's stillness had caught his attention the same way it had caught Cutters. a quiet that didn't match the chaos of everyone else who'd come looking for a payday. Marcus, this is a kid," Reaper said, turning toward him. "17 years old.
You've got real specialists lined up down the block, and you're going to waste time on I didn't say I was wasting anything." Marcus walked closer, studying Ethan the way he might study a stranger's face for a resemblance to someone he used to know. "You said your name was Ethan?" "Yes, sir." "You work on bikes, Ethan." or trucks, tractors, whatever comes through your dad's shop.
Mostly whatever comes through. Tractors, mostly old trucks. My dad says machines don't care what shape they're in. They just want somebody to actually listen instead of guessing. Marcus felt something shift in his chest at that a small strange recognition like hearing a phrase in a language he hadn't spoken in years.
Listen how Ethan hesitated like he wasn't sure the answer would make sense to anyone who hadn't spent years elbow deep in a busted engine. Every mechanic I've ever met starts by asking what's broken. My dad taught me to ask what's talking. There's a difference. Reaper made a sound of pure disbelief.