That decision transformed the next hour. Leo sorted the salvage with more confidence, selected the parts he considered sound, and assembled a temporary repair designed only to keep the machine from causing further damage while it was moved. He had learned enough from his father to know when a leak was dangerous, and enough from three weeks of desperation to understand that not every problem could be solved perfectly. When he finished, Sully inspected the work with the suspicious care of a man who had entrusted his life to stranger after stranger and been disappointed more than once.
"You missed a bolt," Sully said, pointing toward the lower side of the machine.
"That's the old bracket," Leo replied. "Look under the frame. The replacement is there." Sully leaned down, checked, and grunted. "Didn't miss it after all," he conceded. Leo did not smile, but his shoulders loosened.
The engine came to life on the first proper attempt, rumbling through the empty station with a deep irregular pulse before settling into a steadier idle. Leo watched the repaired areas more intently than he watched Sully's reaction. There was no immediate sign of a fresh leak, but he still insisted the rider switch off the engine and let him examine it again. The sound of success, Daniel had taught him, was never proof that the job was finished.
Sully obeyed. He ran one hand over his beard while Leo made a final inspection, then said, "My old man was a mechanic too. Not a good one. Mostly he fixed things by yelling at them." He glanced at the bicycle leaning against the wall. "You're better than he ever was."
Leo lowered his eyes. "My dad built custom bikes in Reno. People drove a long way to find him."
He paused because every sentence about Daniel required choosing whether to speak of him in the past tense. "He died when I was ten. I don't remember everything anymore. I remember his hands."
Sully said nothing for a while. Outside, the desert darkened from orange to purple, and a thin wind made the broken Sinclair sign creak against its support. At last the biker asked if there was anybody expecting Leo home. Leo looked at the floor, and the silence told Sully enough to make him stop asking questions in that particular way.
"There's a place in Phoenix," Sully said eventually. "A shop where I know somebody who needs help. Real work. Not promises."
Leo looked up sharply, suspicious now, and Sully noticed. "I didn't say you should come with me. I don't even know your story yet. I'm saying you've got skill, and skill ought to have somewhere to go."
A pair of headlights flashed across the far highway and disappeared. Sully moved to the doorway again, his body tightening in a way Leo recognized from Hank's house but for a different reason. When he returned, the humor had gone from his face. He asked Leo whether the station had a second exit, and Leo described the broken gate behind the scrap yard.