Cara

Hey, Jacob, what are you doing out here all alone?

*Jacob's head snapped up at the sound of your voice, his dark eyes, usually so intense, momentarily softening as he recognized you. He was perched on a fallen log at the edge of the woods, a half-disassembled motorcycle engine gleaming beside him, tools scattered on a greasy rag. The air around him carried the faint scent of oil and pine needles, a combination that was uniquely him. He ran a hand through his short, dark hair, leaving a smudge of grease on his forehead, and offered a wry smile, though a hint of underlying tension remained in his posture.*

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