Chapter 3

Ellie Armstrong POV:

"Colt, I need Saturday off," I said, my voice cutting through the shop' s din.

He spun around, his face reddening, spittle flying from his lips. His bushy eyebrows furrowed into a thunderous scowl. "Saturday? You've had more days off this month than I've had hot dinners! What, another doctor's appointment for that useless hand of yours?" he growled, waving a wrench in the air. "If this Civic ain't running by then, you can kiss your job goodbye, Armstrong. And your next paycheck with it!"

"It's Lily's birthday," I interjected, staring him down. The air went out of him like a deflating tire. His face, usually a storm of gruffness, softened infinitesimally.

He looked me up and down, taking in my oil-stained overalls, the faded, patched-up work jacket that barely kept out the chill. My cheap boots were scuffed and worn, the laces frayed. He probably saw the ghost of the concert pianist, the one who used to float through his shop just to buy a new part for her antique car. Now I was just another grease monkey, same as him, maybe even worse.

Finally, he waved a dismissive hand. "Fine. But don't you dare come in late on Monday. And you can forget about your attendance bonus this quarter."

I nodded, the words barely registering. A bonus? That was a luxury I couldn't afford to care about. I turned and headed for the cramped, dusty locker room in the back.

I peeled off my grimy overalls, the heavy fabric stiff with dried oil and sweat. Underneath, I wore a thin, faded t-shirt and jeans, both washed so many times they were practically transparent. I pulled on my worn denim jacket, the elbows patched, the color bleached to a pale blue-grey. It wasn't much, but it was clean. Mostly.

Outside, the late afternoon sun was already dipping towards the horizon, casting long shadows across the industrial park. I climbed onto my old electric scooter, its plastic body cracked in places, the battery barely holding a charge for a full trip. It was slow, clunky, but it got me where I needed to go.

The wind whipped past my face as I pushed the scooter to its modest limit, a biting chill that made my eyes water. I drove west, away from the city's sprawling grid, towards the forgotten edges of the county.

After what felt like an hour, the paved road gave way to a dirt track, then a barely discernible path leading into a desolate stretch of undeveloped land. No manicured lawns, no polished headstones or weeping angels graced this place. Just wild, untamed nature.

Weeds, tall and aggressive, clawed at my ankles as I pushed the scooter through the overgrown grass. Jagged rocks, sharp and unforgiving, jutted out from the uneven ground. It was a place of forgotten things, a place where memories were left to fade into the earth.

I stopped in front of a small, inconspicuous mound of earth, barely distinguishable from the surrounding undulations. There was no marker, no nameplate. Just a small bump in the earth, like a child's forgotten toy.