The silence in the garage after the Camaro's thunderous roar faded was profound, a sacred space carved out of the ordinary world. Amelia's hand, where it had rested on his, tingled with the ghost of the contact. The air was thick with the scent of high-octane fuel, curing clear coat, and the ozone of a charged, unspoken future.
Adrian broke the stillness, his voice a low rumble that seemed to harmonize with the memory of the engine. "Leo's right. A car like this… it's not a museum piece. It's meant to be driven. To feel the road."
He looked at her, a question in his eyes that was far more significant than an inquiry about a Saturday afternoon drive. It was a question about trust, about stepping forward, about leaving the safe, known confines of this garage and seeing what happened out there, in the world, together.
