He doesn’t answer. For a second, I think he might step forward—but instead, he turns and disappears deeper into the garage.
“Okay then,” I mutter.
Weird. I shake it off and carry the box inside.
The quiet hits me again the moment I step through the door. I set the box down near the counter and glance around, trying to decide where to start. Shelving, probably.
If I can at least get a few stable units set up, I can start organizing inventory. Make the place feel like something other than a disaster zone.
I move toward one of the taller shelves, testing it with a cautious push. It wobbles.
“Yeah, that’s not great.”
I reach for a second shelf, intending to reposition it—and that’s when I hear it. A sharp crack. I freeze.
The shelf in front of me tilts, the top edge shifting forward. My stomach drops as the entire unit starts to go.
“Oh—no, no, no?—”
I lunge backward as it tips, the weight pulling it down faster than I can react. The wood groans, the joints giving way?—
—and then something slams into it from the side.
The shelf jerks, stops mid-fall. For a split second, I just stare. Then I realize there’s a hand braced against the frame. Strong. Steady. Holding it up. I look up.
The man from the garage is suddenly right there, his body angled into the shelf as he forces it back upright with a controlled, almost effortless motion.
“Move,” he says.
The word snaps me out of it. I scramble back, heart hammering, as he shifts his grip and straightens the unit fully. It wobbles once more before settling, still unstable but no longer about to crush me.
Silence falls again, heavy and sharp.
“Thanks,” I manage, my voice a little breathless. “That could’ve been—bad.”
He doesn’t respond right away. He steps back from the shelf, his eyes scanning it, then the floor, then the ceiling. Assessing.
Up close, he’s even more intimidating. Taller than I thought. Solid. There’s something in the way he holds himself—coiled, almost—that makes me instinctively take another half-step back.
“This place isn’t safe,” he says finally.
No greeting. No introduction. Just that.
I blink. “I mean… yeah, I’m starting to get that impression.”
His gaze flicks to me, sharp and unreadable. “You shouldn’t be in here alone.”
“I’m not exactly spoiled for options,” I shoot back before I can stop myself. “I just bought it.”
His jaw tightens slightly, like that information annoys him for some reason.
“You need structural repairs,” he says. “Shelving’s shot. Floors are weak. That ceiling—” He nods toward the stain. “—could come down.”
“Okay, I get it,” I say, crossing my arms. “It’s a mess.”
He studies me for a second longer, like he’s deciding something. Then he steps away.
“I’ll get someone to look at it,” he says.
