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The garage buzzed with tension.
Avery wiped sweat from her brow, her eyes locked onto the humming core of the super bike she had just reassembled from Reyna's scrap pile. It had taken her three sleepless nights, scavenged parts, and an embarrassing amount of swearing, but she had done it. She had rebuilt the beast.
And now the crew stared.
Some smirked, arms crossed in smug expectation. Others leaned in, eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity, like they were waiting for her handiwork to combust in flames.
Reyna stood silently near the back, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
"Well," she said finally, her voice edged with ice. "You said it could fly. Let's see it crawl first."
Avery didn't flinch. She stepped aside, gesturing to the seat. "After you, Your Highness."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. No one spoke to Reyna that way—not unless they wanted a wrench embedded in their helmet. But Reyna only arched a brow, sauntered forward, and swung onto the seat. The sleek black machine purred to life beneath her like it had never been broken.
Avery held her breath.
Reyna twisted the throttle. The bike lifted an inch, stabilizers humming.
Another twist—and it surged forward, blazing down the underground track in a spiral of silver light.
Gasps. Then silence.
She was fast. Even Avery could tell—faster than Reyna's old setup. The new stabilizers kicked in perfectly at each sharp curve. The recalibrated energy core held strong. And the rear grip, the thing Avery had argued about for hours with the other techs? Perfectly balanced.
When Reyna returned, helmet off and hair wild, she said nothing. Just looked at Avery.
And nodded.
The room erupted.
"Holy shit, she did it."
"Didn't think the girl from the past had it in her."
"Where'd she even learn tech like that?"
Reyna silenced them with a raised hand. She stepped forward, stopping just inches from Avery.
"You rebuilt a bike no one here could fix," she said quietly. "And you didn't just fix it. You improved it."
Avery straightened her back. "I told you I wasn't useless."
Reyna stared at her, eyes narrowed—not in anger, but something closer to recognition.
"I still don't trust you," she said, voice low. "But I'll admit something else: I might need you."
That shouldn't have made Avery's heart stutter.
But it did.
And as the crowd slowly dispersed, she realized something else.
She had earned not just their respect.
She had earned Reyna's attention.
And for the first time, Avery wasn't sure if that was terrifying—or exhilarating.
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