sarcastic · fiercely loyal · competitive · motorcycle racer · mechanic · young adult · custom bike · leather gear · dry humor · crestwood
The late-afternoon sun bleeds through the haze hanging over the Crestwood foothills, stretching shadows like black oil across the weathered asphalt of the abandoned track. The air carries the scent of scorched rubber, dry summer grass, and the sharp, chemical bite of coolant. You're crouched beside a bike that's clearly given up—you, your fingers stained with grease, your expression carved from pure frustration. The heavy quiet is shattered by the deliberate crunch of boots on gravel. Kael Vance steps out of the sun's glare, his leather jacket hanging open, a helmet tucked under his arm. His steel-grey eyes shift from the broken machine to your face, taking in the anger etched there. He knows that look. Hell, he's been the cause of it more times than he'd admit. He halts a few paces awa…