“Gary?” I call out, my voice flat. “If you’re trying to scare me, give it up. You’ve got the grace of a newborn giraffe and I can hear you breathing from here.”
Silence follows. Just the wind whistling through the pines and the distant hum of a car on the main road.
I shake my head, letting out a frustrated breath.Get it together, Carter.It’s just the woods. It’s just evening. I grab the first box, hauling it toward the propped-open door. As I turn back for the second, a figure steps out from the side of the building, cutting through the dim glow of the security light.
I jump, a small gasp escaping me as my heart tries to exit my chest. “Gary! I told you to stop—”
I cut myself off, realizing it’s not Gary.
Luka is standing there, hands stuffed into his pockets, looking far more put-together than anyone has a right to be at the back of a diner. He offers a small, sheepish grin that usually works on everyone, but my adrenaline is still spiked.
“Gary?” he repeats, amused. “Should I be offended or is he just that much of a menace?”
“He’s a menace,” I say, pressing a hand to my ribs to steady my breathing. “What are you doing lurking in the dark?”
“Not lurking,” Luka corrects, stepping closer. He reaches down, easily hoisting two of the heavier boxes I hadn't even attempted yet. “I was heading inside to grab a bite when they mentioned you were back here organizing the chaos. Figured I’d jump in so you could get back to the AC sooner.”
I relax, the tension draining out of my shoulders. ThesnapI heard must have just been him rounding the corner. “I had asystem, but I’m not going to argue with someone who wants to do the heavy lifting for me.”
He chuckles, the sound light and easy. “Smart. Use the resources available. That’s just good management.”
We move in a quiet rhythm for a minute, transferring the stack. Luka is efficient, but he’s watching me—not the way Dominic does, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle he hates, but with a softness that makes me feel… seen.
It’s a little uncomfortable. It’s too easy, too steady. I should be leaning into that, appreciating the lack of friction, but my mind is already drifting back to the garage. I’m annoyed that even here, in the quiet with the "easy" Valerio, my thoughts keep snagging on the one who made a point of knocking me off balance. It’s a gravitational pull I didn't ask for and can't seem to calculate my way out of. I want to be mad—Iammad—but there's a stubborn, aching part of me that’s already trying to find an excuse for him, a way to make his coldness make sense so I don't have to stop feeling the way I do when he's near.
I reach for a smaller box, my fingers brushing the cardboard where the anonymous text is still burning a hole in my pocket. For a split second, I’m not even in the alley anymore; I’m back in the heavy silence of the garage, wondering if the air there feels as empty as I do.
“So,” Luka says, leaning against the doorframe, shifting his weight, his eyes lingering on mine with a quiet, expectant focus.
"I was thinking... since you're almost finished with work tonight, maybe we could grab a drink? Somewhere that doesn't smell like old fryer oil?" He offered a small, encouraging smile. "My friend Max—his dad owns a place about twenty minutes from here. He could get us a table in the back with something to drink, no problem. It’s quiet inside. No racing fans, no grease, just a decent glass of wine."
I stiffen, my hands hovering over the tape on a carton. I hear the words, but they feel distant, like I'm listening to him through a thick pane of glass. My focus is still miles away, tangled in the silence of his brother and the sharp, fresh sting of being dismissed. I’m so busy bracing for the next strike from Dominic that I don't have the bandwidth to realize Luka is even trying to be kind. I just assume he can tell I’m stressed and he’s being his usual, helpful self—offering a distraction because that’s what friends do.
“The flight is tomorrow,” I say, my voice coming out more clinical than I intended. I’m already mentally checking off logistics just to avoid the way he's looking at me—calculating server rack weights and ensuring the sensors are packed for the garage build. “The data is synced, the prep is done. Once we land, I’m just there to monitor the looms and make sure your brother doesn’t kill anyone before he even hits the grid.”
Luka’s expression falters, just a fraction. He lets out a dry, breathy laugh and shakes his head, the rejection of his invitation clearly stinging, even if he tries to play it off.
“Right. The flight. I forgot for a second that everything stops once the season is in full swing,” he says, his voice losing that warm, hopeful edge. “I guess hardware checks are more important than a decent glass of wine.”
“I’m just tired of the constant fire-fighting,” I say, the words coming out sharper than I meant them to. I immediately regret the edge in my voice and sigh, rubbing at my temple. “Sorry. It’s been a long week. And Dominic... he isn’t exactly making things easy. I feel like I'm recalibrating a system that’s determined to fail every time he steps into the vicinity.”
Luka’s expression shifts. A flicker of something darkens his eyes—not anger at me, but that familiar, weary frustration he has for his brother’s attitude.
“He never does,” Luka says softly, his tone turning genuinely sympathetic. “He’s got a way of making everyone around him feel like they’re just supporting characters in his life. But you don't have to carry his moods. You know that, right? You're allowed to just be the technician. You don't have to be the one who bears the brunt of his temper just because you’re in the same space.”
It’s annoying. I should be jumping at the chance to spend time with someone who actually wants to be around me. Instead, I’m standing in a back area, still feeling the sting of words that shouldn't matter as much as they do.
“I know,” I say, though the words land flat between us.
The silence that follows isn't the comfortable kind we usually have. I start to turn back toward the kitchen, expecting him to head around the front towards his car, but he stays rooted to the spot. He’s just standing there in the middle of the workspace, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that makes the cramped back entrance feel even smaller.
Usually, we have a clear lane—we’re the "easy" ones, the ones who don't make things complicated. We joke, we vent, and that’s the end of it. But the gears are grinding tonight. I can tell he’s weighing a sentence he hasn’t said yet, and the uncertainty of it makes me want to retreat into the safety of the walk-in fridge just to have a gap between us—but then the moment breaks. He finally exhales and steps back toward the open door, his usual easy-going grin returning, though it looks a little forced.
“I’ll see you at the track, then. Try to get some sleep, Carter,” he says, his voice dropping to that softer, more sincere register. He gestures vaguely toward me, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. “You’ve got that look in your eyes again—like you're trying to solve the world's problems while standing on your feet. Make sure you get some rest before you fall over.”
“Night, Luka,” I say, watching him disappear back towards the front. Once he’s gone, the silence feels weirdly twice as heavy.
I turn my attention back toward the woods, my eyes narrowing as I scan the line of trees. That prickle is back—that sensation of being watched that I can’t quite shake. I wait, holding my breath, looking for anything that doesn't belong.
