She listened to the tiny differences between one second and the next.
The first second passed.
Then the second.
Then the third.
At precisely four seconds, the engine stopped.
The sudden silence sounded more deliberate than mechanical, as if someone had simply switched the motorcycle off.
Ace kept his hand near the controls.
From the workbench came an exaggerated sigh.
Emma didn’t move.
The mechanic stared at her.
“Are you kidding?”
Emma turned her head.
Ace glanced at the row of men watching her.
Some looked entertained.
Others were plainly irritated that the afternoon had taken this direction.
But the girl hadn’t touched anything.
She hadn’t made an excuse.
She hadn’t claimed to know something she couldn’t explain.
She had listened to the motorcycle once and asked to listen again.
Ace pressed the starter.
The Harley came alive.
Emma watched the engine and listened intently.
Exactly the same result.
Not approximately four seconds.
Not whenever the engine began warming up.
Emma’s expression changed.
It was subtle, but Ace saw it.
Her uncertainty hadn’t disappeared.
Instead, it had narrowed into something more focused.
She stepped back and looked at the motorcycle as a whole.
Then she asked a question nobody expected.
“Does it ever keep running longer than that?”
The senior mechanic nearest the diagnostic screen answered.
“Sometimes it stalls almost immediately.
Sometimes we get a little more time.
But it always quits.”
Emma considered this.
“Does it act like it’s running out of gas?”
“Does the engine slow down before it stops?”
It cuts straight off.”
She looked toward Ace.
“That’s what I heard.”
The senior mechanic gave an impatient shrug.
“We all heard it.”
“Then you know it isn’t dying slowly.”