I take it. The beam illuminates her face. She’s focused, eyes narrowed, hands moving with a speed and precision that contradicts the shaking of her body.
"This is a clean cut," she says, running her fingers over the severed rubber. "Razor blade. Sharp."
"I know."
"Whoever did it knew the make of the generator. They bypassed the safety cage." She looks at me, violet eyes stark in the harsh light. "They wanted us blind."
"They wantedyoublind," I correct. "I don't need lights to kill."
"Well, good for you," she mutters, grabbing a roll of electrical tape from my discarded shirt pocket. "Some of us rely on the visual spectrum."
I watch her work.
It’s... distracting.
We’re crammed together in the mud. My leg is pressed against her side. I can detect the heat of her thigh through the thin material of the raincoat. Every time she moves to torque a nut or strip a wire, her shoulder brushes my chest.
The air down here is stagnant, trapped. It smells of gasoline, wet earth, andher.
"Hand me the pliers," she commands, holding out a hand without looking.
I slap the tool into her palm. Her fingers brush mine. She’s freezing. My skin is burning hot, the Wolf metabolism running high to combat the cold.
"You're cold," I say. It comes out rougher than I mean it to.
"Thermodynamics," she says, twisting a wire. "It’s wet. I’m losing heat. You, on the other hand, are radiating like a blast furnace. It’s annoyingly efficient."
"You want me to leave?" I ask, leaning closer. "Give you some space?"
She pauses. She looks up at me, her face inches from mine. Rainwater drips from her nose.
"No," she says softly. "Don't leave."
Then she clears her throat and turns back to the engine. "I need the light steady. Stop twitching."
"I ain't twitching."
"You're vibrating. It’s like leaning against a V8 engine."
I snort. "Maybe I’m just allergic to bad mechanics."
She laughs. It’s a small, startled sound, but it hits me in the chest. "I’m an excellent mechanic. You're just a hovering client. The worst kind."
"I ain't a client. I own the shop."
"Possessive," she murmurs, tightening the clamp on the fuel line. "There. That should hold."
She reaches for the pull cord. "Give it a yank. I don't have the leverage."
I reach past her. My chest presses against her back. I can feel her spine stiffen. I’m surrounding her, my arm brushing her ear as I grab the handle.
I pull.
The generator coughs, sputters, then roars to life. The vibration shakes the ground under us.
"Yes!" She pumps a fist, grinning. "Fixed. Logic prevails."
She turns to face me, excitement flushing her cheeks.
