Page 56 of Bend

I crouch again and gesture toward the mount area. “I’d want to check whether anything’s shifted slightly in the front-end setup—fork alignment, triple clamp torque, axle seating, even whether you’ve got a subtle mount stress issue that only starts translating once the bike’s been hammered for a while.” I tilt my head, studying it. “Could also be compounding with heat in the tire if the setup’s already borderline, but I don’t think the tire’s the root problem. I think it’s just exposing it honestly.”

Sayshen makes a quiet little mmhmm sound like the cocky asshole he is, but I ignore him too.

“If I’m right,” I go on, “I’ll strip it back enough to check front-end alignment, torque the clamps properly, make sure the axle isn’t sitting with even the tiniest bit of bind, then look at whether the current fork settings are compensating for a mechanical issue instead of actually solving it.”

Andre finally speaks. “And if you’re wrong?”

I straighten and look at him. “Then I’ll be embarrassed in front of your whole garage, and you, and Talon, can tell Sayshen ‘I told you so’ for the rest of the year.”

That actually gets a short huff of laughter out of him.

Good.

Then his expression resets to business.

“How long do you need?”

“Honestly, that depends how far off it is. If it’s what I think, not long to diagnose properly. But it will definitely take longer if someone’s been trying to tune around it instead of fixing it.”

Judging by Andre’s face, they absolutely have.

Sayshen cracks a grin. “Told you she was good.”

Andre points at him without looking. “Shut up or you'll be skipping the next heat.”

Then he looks back at me.

“All right,” he says. “Then get to work. I’ll check in in a bit.”

He starts to walk off, then pauses and glances over his shoulder. “And if you’re stripping anything, keep your hardware organized. I don’t tolerate chaos at my workstations.”

I glance around the garage. “I’ll keep it tidy.”

Andre just grunts and keeps walking.

The second he’s gone, Sayshen lets out a low breath and bumps his shoulder lightly against mine. “See? You’ve got him.”

“I haven’t even fixed anything yet.”

“Yeah, but now he wants to see if you can.”

“That is somehow more stressful.”

He smirks. “You’ll be fine.”

I glance over my shoulder toward Bay Two.

Talon’s back is to me now, but only technically. I can feel the irritation rolling off him from here. Not loud, or dramatic. Just fucking there. Thick in the air.

I turn back to the bike before I can overthink it.

Gloves on. Tools out. Breathing steadier now that my hands have something real to do.

This part I know.

Machines make more sense than people.

I’ve just started loosening the first set of bolts when footsteps sound at the bay entrance, followed by the familiar scrape of boots on concrete.