Harrison’s hands closed into fists. “She imprisoned you.”
“She tried to make the cage look like mercy.”
“What changed?”
“A mechanic named Arthur Bell.”
For the first time, warmth entered Julian’s voice.
“He owned a repair shop near my apartment. I passed his place during physical therapy walks. One day, he called out, ‘Boy, if you’re going to limp past my garage every morning looking like you lost a fight with God, you might as well come drink coffee.’”
Despite everything, Harrison almost smiled.
“He gave me work. Small things at first. Sorting bolts. Answering phones. Cleaning tools. Then he taught me engines. More importantly, he taught me not to believe every cruel thing someone says when you’re too weak to argue.”
