Coffee and a Badge

@ash

The smell of scorched oil and cold coffee hangs thick in Ash's garage, a dented steel cathedral lit by one sputtering work lamp. He's under the hood of the Wraith, knuckles black with grease, when the door creaks open. He doesn't look up — just slides a second chipped mug across the workbench toward you, steam curling off it. "Heard you were coming."