She closed her fingers around the vial.
Jack stared out at the garage. The Camaro sat there, half-assembled. It was a monument to their time together. He realized then that his fear hadn't been that she would fail; it was that she would leave this world behind. He wanted the white-collar success for her so she wouldn't have to break her back like he did. valerica steele dad
Valerica had spent a decade convincing herself she was fine. She’d built her reputation on skepticism because belief had cost her too much. Her father, Elias Steele, had been the real deal—a folklorist who could walk into any town and leave with three new legends and a scar. He’d believed in everything: kelpies, shadow men, the soft whisper of the huldra in the birch woods. She closed her fingers around the vial
"I wouldn't be making anything real," she corrected him gently. "I want to build engines. Real ones. I want to work with my hands, not a keyboard. I’m thinking of taking that apprenticeship at the custom bike shop downtown instead. Less money. More grease." It was a monument to their time together
"Relax, Pops. I brought the goods." Valerica pulled a greasy paper bag from her backpack. "Double cheese, extra onions. The kind that makes Mom scream when you breathe near her."
"So," Jack started, hesitating. He wasn't good at the 'feelings' stuff. "How’s the internship application going? For that big tech firm?"