Some were no longer actively involved, but they remained close enough to hear the conversation.
Emma felt their attention.
She understood how ridiculous the situation must look.
A teenage girl standing in a professional motorcycle garage, questioning men who had been repairing engines longer than she’d been alive.
Her bright pink toolbox made the contrast impossible to ignore.
She had heard jokes about it before.
Some people assumed the color meant she wasn’t serious.
Others seemed annoyed that she didn’t appear embarrassed by it.
Emma had never understood why the color of a toolbox mattered more than the tools inside.
A wrench worked the same way whether the case holding it was pink, black, or red.
The motorcycle didn’t know the difference.
She looked toward Ace.
“Does the engine sound normal to you before it stops?”
“Perfectly normal.”
“Like it could keep running?”
She looked again at the wiring disappearing beneath the seat.
Then she slowly turned back toward the mechanics.
“Did anybody find a wire that was completely broken?”
“A loose connector?”
“Nothing that explained the shutdown.”
“Any damaged insulation?”
“We inspected the wiring.”
“And it looked okay?”
Emma didn’t respond immediately.
Ace watched her eyes move between the harness and the floor.
She wasn’t examining the Harley’s appearance anymore.
She was trying to imagine something happening inside it.
Something invisible.
Something the diagnostic screens hadn’t revealed.
The younger mechanic beside the workbench finally spoke.
“So what’s your theory?”
Emma looked at him.
“I need to ask one more thing first.”
He spread his hands.
She turned toward Ace.
“Can you remember exactly when the trouble started?”
A few days ago.”
“No,” Emma said gently.
“I mean what happened before it started.”