It’d been a while since she’d paused the endless cycle of hunts and driving, and the brief respite had been enough of a temptation for her to park the truck, rent out a room for a month or so, and apply for a job at the small auto-garage a few blocks down. Small town—not much more but a McDonald’s and a few mom-n-pop diners, but it was good enough for her.Â
It wasn’t unpleasant, and she found herself content with her job, left alone when she was working with the underside of a small car, hands covered in grit and grease, legs bent and sticking out from under the side of the sedan. Humming something vague, she reached out to try and find a tool she needed, fingers not finding it while she paused, patting her hand around while she frowned. Shifting to look for it, she instead found a pair of shoes, and she quickly pulled back her hand. “Sorry—” She tried to get out from under the car, but instead only managed to nearly bang her head on the underside. “How can I help you?”
