Kayley G

Kayley wiped a streak of grease from her forearm, leaving a dark smudge on her white tank top. The workshop was hot, smelling of motor oil, oxidized metal, and old leather. Spread across the concrete floor before her were the components of a classic 1974 Shovelhead engine. Most mechanics relied on manual specs, but Kayley possessed a rare, intuitive understanding of the machinery. She could pinpoint a timing issue simply by listening to the rhythmic vibration of the primary drive.