The garage grew darker as the sun disappeared behind the low western hills. Leo found a second lantern in a cabinet, cleaned its contacts, and managed to coax a weak circle of light from it. Within that circle the motorcycle became something he could understand: metal under strain, parts meant to cooperate, evidence of damage that could be separated from guesswork. There was no mystery in an engine that had been hurt. There were only consequences and the patience to identify them.
Sully finally broke the silence. "You been eating?" Leo kept examining the machine. "Enough," he said.
Sully looked at the empty cans beside the office door, then at the hollow space below Leo's cheekbones. "That's not an answer." Leo tightened his grip on a wrench and said, "It's the answer I've got."
A minute later Sully reached into the inside pocket of his vest and produced a flattened packet of crackers and a sealed nutrition bar. He placed both on the workbench without comment. Leo stared at them, suspicious of any gift that might later become a debt. Sully noticed and said, "Eat or don't. It's not a test." Leo waited until the biker looked away before taking the bar.
The food tasted impossibly good. He ate slowly because his stomach had learned to protest when he treated it too generously. Sully watched him between glances toward the road and did not make the boy explain. There was something about the restraint that Leo found more disarming than any invitation to tell his story. For the first time in days, somebody seemed willing to let him have something without charging him afterward.
Sully's shoulder needed attention, too. Leo had noticed how the large man protected it whenever he shifted his weight, and now he could see dried blood darkening the torn sleeve. "You should get that looked at," he said. "Been meaning to," Sully answered.
Leo frowned. "I mean before it gets worse, not next month." The biker gave a tired chuckle and pressed a clean cloth against the wound.
"You sound like my sister," Sully said. "She would tell you she's usually right," Leo replied. "She would tell you she's always right." For a moment the harshness left Sully's face, and Leo saw a man old enough to be someone's uncle rather than a figure out of the frightening stories he'd heard. The change was brief, but it made the garage feel less like a place where danger had stopped and more like a place where two people might actually finish a conversation.
Leo worked with what the building had left him, rejecting more items than he accepted. Most of the old hoses were brittle, and several pieces of metal had cracks that made them useless for anything carrying a load or containing fluid. He used sound components only where he could verify their condition, then checked the damaged area again and again while the motorcycle remained off. When he finally found a way to isolate the leak and secure the damaged cover well enough for a short emergency relocation, he told Sully exactly what the limits were. It was a temporary measure, not permission to treat the Road King as though the accident had never happened.