Pyro

XI

Sunny

The garage air hits cold against my overheated skin, hands black with the Mercedes AMG innards. The scent of oil and metal grounds me while everything else feels adrift. Kleedus lounges nearby, head on paws, watching me work with that knowing look of his. He hasn't left my side since Sol brought him here - like he knows I need the anchor.

Working on cars always cleared my head back home. The logic of engines, the foreseeable problems, the satisfaction of making something broken work again. Now it's the only thing keeping me sane in this gilded cage. Every bolt I turn feels like another second of freedom, even if it's just pretend.

Kleedus whines softly, sensing my darkening thoughts. "I know, buddy." My hand finds his fur, leaving grease marks he'll complain about later. "I miss home, too."

The silence about father eats at me. Sol's reports from home paint a concerning picture - empty house, absent father, like he's vanished into thin air. It's not like him to disappear, even with his... business. He always made sure someone knew where he was, always checked in, kept routines. This silence feels wrong. Dangerous.

"Where are you, father?" I whisper to the engine block. It offers no answers, just reflects my grease-smeared face back at me.

Kleedus nudges my leg, offering his favourite tennis ball. His way of saying I'm thinking too hard again. Smart boy always knows when to pull me out of my head. "Really?" I'm covered in oil." He just wags his tail, insistent. "Fine, one throw. But if you get dirty, you're explaining it to Finn."

As I reach for the ball, I catch myself smiling. Even in this strange place, some things stay constant. My dog's endless optimism. The comfort of fixing engines. The grounding reality of metal and machines.

But the questions keep circling: Why can't I leave? What happened to my father? What aren't they telling me?

Kleedus barks, impatient for his throw. The sound echoes off pristine garage walls that hold too many expensive cars and too many secrets.

"Okay, okay." I launch the ball, watching him bound after it with pure joy. At least one of us can find simple happiness here. "But then back to work. This oil pump won't fix itself."

My hands return to the engine, but my mind keeps spinning like a flywheel - Father's absence, Sol's secrets, Finn's protectiveness. Something bigger is happening, and I'm stuck here playing mechanic while the world shifts around me.

At least I can fix cars. People and their mysteries...that's a whole other kind of broken.

I might have borrowed one of Finn's old running shoes from the back of his closet. Borrowed being the operative word. He's got enough fancy dress shoes - one old pair of sneakers for Kleedus won't kill him.

Though he might kill me when he finds out.

Kleedus took it immediately, following me down to the garage with his prize. While I positioned the Mercedes on the lift, he settled nearby - close enough to protect, far enough to destroy his new toy in peace.

Hours have passed, judging by the shoe's remains. The oil pump was a quick fix, but I couldn't help myself - started tuning, customising. Who keeps a car this beautiful so... vanilla? It's criminal.

Working on it makes me ache for my own unfinished project back home. My car, my bike, the endless hours with Abby and Nori. The side projects I can't touch while locked up here at this mansion.

The constant surveillance sets my teeth on edge. Camera eyes follow my every move, making my skin crawl. Twenty minutes of that prickling sensation of being watched, observed, studied.