Something sharp sparks under my skin.
The man leans forward slightly, studying me differently now.
“Looking for work?”
I glance at them, at the way they’re watching me, not annoyed, not waiting for me to screw up.
“…Yeah,” I say, quieter, but steady.
He nods once.
“Stick with us. We’ll see what you’re made of.”
That should’ve been the end of it.
It wasn’t.
At school, I’m too much.
Too loud. Too restless. Too wrong.
Here… I’m useful.
That’s the difference.
A few nights later, I’m alone in the shop when the door creaks open, the wrong kind of quiet settling in before I even turn.
A man moves fast toward the cash box.
My body locks for half a second.
Then everything snaps.
“Hands off.”
He lunges.
I swing.
The wrench connects, the impact running up my arm, and something breaks loose inside me as I follow through, faster, harder, every hit ripping something out of my chest I didn’t even know was there.
He goes down.
I’m still breathing hard when I notice him.
The VP.
Leaning against a bike like he’s been there the whole time.
“You didn’t run,” he says.
“I couldn’t.”
He studies me for a second longer, then nods.
“That’s how we do things in Michael’s Legion.”
A pause.
