Chapter 5: Fragments.

"Daddy, why do engines hum like that?" Juliet's small voice piped up, her eight-year-old hands smudged with grease as she sat cross-legged beside her father in their garage.

He chuckled, wiping his brow with a rag. "That's the music of hard work, little one. They sing when everything's in tune."

Her eyes sparkled, soaking in his words, the scent of oil and metal wrapping around them like a second home.

Life unfolded gently after that. Her mother's absence came early, a quiet ache when Juliet was six, leaving her father to raise her alone. He was a sturdy man, his hands calloused from years at the mill, but his smile softened every evening as he cooked dinner or read to her by lamplight. Their house, a modest bungalow with peeling paint, rang with her laughter—chasing fireflies in the yard, begging for stories of her mother's garden. He taught her to mend things, from a leaky faucet to a sputtering lawnmower, their bond a steady thread through her childhood.

Friends came and went, schoolmates who waved hello but never lingered. Juliet kept her circle loose, her heart reserved for her father, the machines she loved to tinker with, and the promise of a quiet life. Happiness lived in the clatter of tools, the hum of a fixed motor, the warmth of her father's approval.

A blank stretched across her mind.

The air turned crisp, a twelve-year-old Juliet kicking leaves along a dirt path near her home. A small pup, its fur a mottled gray, appeared suddenly, nudging her leg with a wet nose. It tugged at her sleeve, leading her toward a thicket. There, she found its mother, a massive hound lying still, ribs heaving with shallow breaths. The mother's eyes met hers, then dimmed, her final breath a soft sigh. Juliet knelt, tears falling, and gathered the pup—Blue, she named it—into her arms. At home, her father nodded silently, and they nursed Blue back, his strength growing into a loyal, powerful companion. Years later, Blue stood tall, his frame robust, a constant guardian as she worked late into the night.

Another blank loomed.

Juliet stood frozen, her breath shallow, as three men loomed before her in the dim alley. Her wrist throbbed under a rough grip, the man with the cut on his nose holding her fast. A scar sliced across his nose, his hair a vague brown blur in the shadows, his form indistinct beyond that. The other two were dark figures, their faces swallowed by gloom, only the glint of their eyes visible. Her toolkit lay abandoned, tools scattered on the ground, glinting faintly. Panic surged, her pulse racing, when a blur of gray fur—Blue—burst from the dusk, teeth clamping onto the man's hand. A sharp cry cut the air as he released her, blood welling, Blue growling fiercely between her and the shadowy figures.

Footsteps pounded closer. Her father emerged, his car door ajar, a grocery bag swinging from one hand, a heavy wrench gripped in the other. His face hardened, a mix of concern and resolve.

"Let her go," he said, his voice a low command.

"I know you. Your father will have your ass if this spirals and word spreads. He's a man of reputation, and I heard he's not very forgiving either," he added, raising the wrench slightly, its weight a silent threat.

The men exchanged glances, irritation flaring in their shadowed eyes, stung by the warning. The one with the cut on his nose gritted his teeth, his face twisting with insulted rage.

He spared them a hateful glare, malice in his eyes which brought her back.

The familiar interior of the Demon came into focus, the seat pushed back beneath her. Her heart pounded, hands trembling as she sat up. Her fingers instinctively grabbed Kane's collar, pulling him close. He froze, a bag of chips slipping from his hand, his startled eyes meeting hers.

Juliet stared at him, her mind racing to piece together the fragments.

"Uh..... you're too close," he said, his voice a nervous lilt.

She glanced around, her eyes landing on the chips in his hand. Her grip tightened, a serious glint in her eyes as she asked:

"...Where's mine?"