Beautiful eyes.

Beautiful eyes.
The day felt oddly restless. The streets of Tipet buzzed with the low, constant hum of people going about their lives, but Ree could not shake the sense that her own was drifting in directions she hadn’t planned. Maybe it was the way her thoughts kept circling back to Kellan when she should have been focused on something else. Or maybe it was because, for the first time since she’d arrived here, she wanted to talk—not about survival or hiding, but about something simple and human.

That was how she ended up at the vehicle repair yard near the western edge of Tipet. The air was heavy with the metallic scent of oil and the tang of rubber, and the rhythmic clank of tools echoed off the corrugated walls. A few men worked on battered hover-bikes, their overalls stained with grease. Ree lingered near the entrance, wondering if she should even be here, when a voice called out.

“You lost, sweetheart? Or just curious?”

Ree turned.

The woman leaning against a rust-colored machine was unlike anyone she had seen here. She was tall, with dark bronze skin that gleamed under the strip of afternoon light, her hair twisted into bold coils streaked with copper dye. A streak of black oil marked her cheekbone, but instead of looking messy, it only made her smile sharper. Her eyes—amber, feline, unwavering—fixed on Ree in a way that made her chest tighten.

“I—no,” Ree stammered, heat rushing to her face. “I’m not lost. Just… wandering.”

The woman laughed, low and throaty, wiping her hands on a rag. “Wandering into a mechanic’s yard? You’ve got interesting hobbies.”

Ree smiled despite herself. “Maybe I like the smell of engines.”

“Or maybe you like the company,” the woman countered easily, pushing off the machine and walking toward her. The way she moved—confident, unhurried, hips swaying just enough—made Ree’s pulse quicken.

“I’m Tasha,” she said, stopping close enough that Ree could catch the scent of warm metal and citrus soap clinging to her skin. “And you are?”

“Ree.”

“Ree,” Tasha repeated slowly, as if tasting the name. “Pretty. Doesn’t sound like someone who spends time around grease and bolts.”

“I don’t,” Ree admitted, shifting nervously under that bold gaze. “I just… needed a change of scenery.”

“Well,” Tasha said, tossing the rag over her shoulder, “you found the right place. People say this yard’s ugly, but it’s honest. Machines don’t lie to you. You touch them right, they respond. You neglect them, they break.” Her lips curved, and Ree felt the words sink deeper than they should have.

Something about the woman’s energy was magnetic—no, more than that. It pulled at something inside Ree she hadn’t realized was there. Her throat felt dry. “That’s… a good philosophy.”

Tasha tilted her head, eyes glinting with mischief. “And what about you, Ree? Do you respond when touched right?”

The boldness of it sent a flush creeping over Ree’s neck. She let out a shaky laugh, hoping it didn’t sound too nervous. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

“Time’s short,” Tasha shrugged. “Better to say what you mean.” She reached past Ree to pick up a wrench, her arm brushing Ree’s shoulder deliberately, the brief contact setting off a rush of warmth under her skin.

They talked after that—light, teasing at first, then deeper. Tasha asked where Ree had come from, though Ree kept her answers vague, protecting the secrets she carried. In return, Tasha spoke about her love for machines, how she’d been fixing vehicles since she was a teenager, how the roar of an engine felt like music in her bones. Her laughter was rich and unguarded, spilling into the air in a way that made Ree want to hear it again and again.

“You’re different,” Tasha said finally, studying her with those sharp amber eyes. “Not like the others here.”

Ree shrugged, fingers fidgeting at the hem of her tunic. “Maybe that’s because I don’t belong here.”

“Or maybe you belong more than you think.” The way Tasha said it—soft, deliberate—made Ree’s breath catch.

She shouldn’t have felt it. She knew she shouldn’t. But as Tasha leaned closer, explaining some minor detail about the bike engine beside them, Ree found herself captivated not by the words but by the curve of her lips, the glisten of sweat at her temple, the steady rhythm of her voice. Attraction, sharp and unexpected, coiled through her like a living thing.

Her heart thudded when their eyes met again, and she wondered if Tasha could see the heat rising in her.

Ree licked her lips nervously. “You’re… very bold.”

Tasha smirked. “And you like it.”

She did. More than she wanted to admit.

Their conversation stretched on, weaving between humor and confession, until Ree felt something loosening in her chest—a freedom she hadn’t allowed herself in so long. Here, in this oily yard with a woman who smelled of steel and sunlight, she wasn’t just the girl running from danger. She was alive, awake, trembling with new desire.

It was only when a faint crunch reached her ears—a pebble shifting, a shadow flickering at the far end of the yard—that Ree’s awareness shifted. She glanced toward the movement, but saw nothing but the stacked crates and broken parts piled high. Still, a chill traced her spine.

“Tasha,” she murmured, lowering her voice. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Tasha asked, glancing over casually.

“Nothing,” Ree said quickly, though her pulse quickened. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was everything.

But as she turned back to Tasha, the warmth in those amber eyes pulled her in again, drowning out the unease.

And somewhere beyond the edge of the yard, hidden in shadow, someone was watching.