A seam.
Almost invisible.
He pressed.
Nothing.
Pressed harder.
Click.
A hidden panel moved.
Ethan stared.
Inside was a rolled piece of oil-stained paper.
He carefully pulled it out.
It was a blueprint.
But not an ordinary blueprint.
It showed systems inside the Harley that weren't included in any official documentation.
Ethan's heart began pounding.
The design was extraordinary.
The engine had been built around a complex calibration sequence.
A system of components that had to be adjusted not merely individually, but in relation to one another.
One setting affected another.
One valve affected the entire engine.
The motorcycle wasn't simply a machine.
It was an integrated system.
And whoever had designed it had understood something most mechanics never would.
At the bottom of the blueprint were five words.
Ethan stared at them.
For the son who finds this.
He stopped breathing.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
Then he sat down.
He didn't cry.
He hadn't cried for Victor in years.
At fourteen, Ethan had decided that grief was a luxury.
You couldn't survive on grief.
You survived by moving forward.
But now the sealed room inside him opened.
His father had known.
Maybe he hadn't known Ethan would find the blueprint.
Maybe he had only hoped.
But he had left a message.
For his son.
Ethan folded the blueprint carefully.
He placed it inside his jacket.
Then he returned to work.
Hours later, he found something else.
Four replacement components.
They were almost new.
Too new.
Everything else on the engine showed twenty years of wear.
These parts didn't.
And they were wrong.
Not cheap.
Not defective.
Wrong.
Deliberately wrong.
Ethan examined them.
Each one had tolerances that would force the engine into its emergency shutdown sequence.
Someone had done this.
Someone who understood the motorcycle.
Someone who knew exactly what would happen.
Ethan looked at the door.
Someone had been sabotaging the Harley.
For years.
He put the parts aside.
Then the door opened.
Joker entered.
His eyes went immediately to the disassembled engine.
“Talk.”
Ethan pointed.
“These parts.”
Joker stepped closer.
“What's wrong with them?”
“They're wrong.”
“Explain.”
“They were installed recently.”
Joker's face hardened.
“By whom?”
“I don't know.”
Ethan reached inside his jacket.
He pulled out the blueprint.
Joker saw it.
His expression changed.
“Where did you find that?”
“Inside the engine.”
Joker took it.
His hands became still.
“Victor.”
Ethan watched him.
“You knew him.”
Joker looked up.
“We called him Ghost.”
“Why?”
“Because he could fix anything.”
Joker looked back at the blueprint.
“Who else knew about this?”
“Nobody.”
“Then how did you—”
“Victor Ryder was my father.”
The blueprint nearly slipped from Joker's hands.
Joker stared at Ethan.
“Ghost had a son?”
Ethan nodded.
Joker sat down.
For the first time, Ethan saw something in the older man's face that looked like regret.
“He talked about you.”
Ethan swallowed.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
Joker's voice softened.
“He said he'd left someone behind.”
Ethan looked away.
“He thought about that child every day.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
“Where is he?”
Joker didn't answer immediately.
Finally:
“He died fourteen months ago.”
The words landed softly.
But they hurt.
“Heart attack.”
Ethan nodded.
He had expected it.
Somehow, knowing didn't make it easier.
Joker handed him the blueprint.
“Finish what he started.”
Ethan looked at the Harley.
“I will.”
Joker hesitated.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“Rex Malone.”
Ethan waited.
“Victor's former apprentice.”
“How long?”
“Ten years.”
“And now?”
“Captain.”
Joker's expression darkened.
“He and Victor stopped speaking eight years ago.”
“Why?”
“His brother died.”
Ethan looked at the sabotaged parts.
“What's his name?”
“Rex.”
“No. His brother.”
Joker looked at him.
“Danny.”
Ethan nodded.
“Does Rex know this engine?”
Joker closed his eyes.
“He probably knows it better than anyone alive.”
That was when Ethan understood.
The sabotage wasn't random.
Someone was fighting the Harley.
And that someone might be standing inside the compound.
Rex Malone
Rex came into the repair room just after noon.
Ethan recognized him immediately.
Tall.
Older.
Powerful.
His face carried the permanent tension of a man who had spent decades refusing to let himself break.
Two men stood behind him.
Rex looked at Ethan.
“So you're the mechanic.”
“You're Rex Malone.”
A faint movement crossed Rex's face.
“Joker talked.”
“He mentioned you.”
Rex looked at the Harley.
For one brief moment, his expression changed.
Love.
Pain.
Anger.
Regret.
All four appeared together.
Then disappeared.
“You've found something,” Rex said.