"Day to night to morning, keep with me in the moment, I'd let you had I known it, why don't you say so?"

Doja Cat’s soft vocals filled the auto shop, blaring loud enough to compete with the cacophony of clanging tools, revving engines, and the occasional burst of laughter from the workers. The scent of motor oil and rubber hung thick in the air, mixing with the faint sweetness of the air freshener Ryan had偷偷 placed near the register. Terrence’s tail, despite the deep-set scowl on his face, swayed subtly in time with the beat while he lay underneath a lifted white Range Rover, the metal surface cold against his back.

"Hey, Boss! I *knew* you had good taste in music!" came the cheerful voice of Ryan, the demi-human collie, right above him, his boots thudding against the concrete floor.

Terrence rolled his eyes, aggressively tightening a bolt as if that would somehow dispel Ryan’s enthusiasm. "Ryan, you got too much free time if you're just standing around bugging me."

"That's still not an answer about the music, Boss!"

"You didn't answer my question either."

Ryan snickered under his breath, the sound muffled slightly by the clatter of a tool he'd knocked off the workbench. He wisely chose not to push his luck with their "tough-as-Rambo" boss–whose tail was still happily wagging to Doja Cat’s melody.

"Anyway, yeah, I’m done. That heap of junk was a *nightmare*, and I think I crushed my damn finger to the point of numbness, but hey–it runs again. If I was a little bolder, I’d demand a raise this month as an automotive wizard."

"Don’t push your luck, kid."

A long, drawn-out sigh from above, followed by the sound of someone shifting their weight awkwardly.

"Alright, alright, I know when to quit." A brief pause. "Actually... uhh. Boss. I was hoping I could dip out early today..." Ryan cleared his throat awkwardly. "See, my brother's got this big baseball game tonight... and I kinda promised I’d be there."

Terrence resisted the urge to facepalm, his knuckles whitening around the wrench in his hand. Ryan’s brother–a scrawny little nerd with glasses thicker than Coke bottles–was about as much of a baseball player as he was a ballerina. Nah. This wasn’t about some game. Ryan had been texting someone at work all week with the dopiest, lovestruck grin imaginable, his tail thumping against his chair so hard it was a wonder he hadn’t broken it yet. And now? Now it was pretty obvious–Collie-boy had landed himself a date.

Terrence wordlessly stuck an oil-slicked hand out from under the car, waving him off dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. Family support’s important or whatever. Get outta my face."

Ryan fist-pumped with little victory dance, nearly tripping over his own feet in his excitement. "THANKS, Boss! You’re the best! The game’s gonna be *legendary!*" He was already halfway to the locker room before Terrence could even think of taking it back.

Terrence snorted, the sound coming out more like a disgruntled growl. "Uh-huh. Sure it will be."

---

Terrence was preparing to close the shop an hour later, the setting sun casting long shadows through the dusty windows. It was Saturday–damn Ryan–he let the other workers go home early too. These people had somewhere to go, unlike him. He pushed the bitter thought deeper down, but the feeling lingered like a persistent ache in his shoulder, the kind that never quite went away no matter how many painkillers he took.

Terrence got mad at himself–he wasn't supposed to be such a softie. Oh, now that sounded like his dad's voice, cold and disappointed. A series of shitty thoughts was interrupted by noise–noise right in the parking lot outside his damn shop. Terrence's ears twitched, swiveling toward the sound automatically, a habit from his military days he couldn't break. It was a fight–the unmistakable sound of fists hitting flesh, followed by a pained yelp that cut off abruptly.

Not my problem. He thought shortly, clenching his fists around the rag he was wiping his hands with too tightly, the fabric bunching between his fingers. Not. My. Problem.

The fight outside was getting heated–screams, damn laughter, and someone's cries were getting harder to ignore, the sounds sharp and clear even through the closed garage door. Terrence growled, low in his throat, throwing the rag on the table with a wet splat. He reached for his phone–cops exist for a reason. He’d call them, let them handle it-

*CRASH

Something slammed against the wall right next to him, the impact shaking the entire building and sending a shower of dust from the ceiling. Hard enough to rattle the tools on the nearby shelf, several wrenches clattering to the floor.

Terrence seemed to disconnect from reality for a second–his legs automatically carrying him outside before his brain could process what he was doing. The afternoon air hit him in the face, warm and humid with the faint smell of rain on the horizon. By the wall lay a girl. A cat demi-human who had clearly lost consciousness, her chest rising and falling in shallow gasps, blood trickling from a cut above her eye. Three boys stood over her, laughing, their expressions cruel and satisfied. Some bastards were beating her up without a drop of pity.

Terrence's vision went white around the edges, and without realizing it, he remembered. The bank. The sound of gunfire. Alice falling. Blood on his hands.

Alice. Blood-soaked tactical gear. Her scent drowned in iron. The look in her eyes–like she knew she was dying. With an animalistic growl, Terrence ran forward and kneed the nearest bastard in the gut, the sound of his winded gasp almost drowned out by his own roaring anger. It didn't take him long to turn them into shit on the pavement–years of military training making short work of the teenagers. He leaned over the girl, brushing her hair away from her swollen face, his fingers gentle despite the rage still coursing through his veins.

She looked so defenseless. So... Abandoned here, by a crappy auto shop, getting beaten up by some scumbags. Terrence's heart clenched painfully in his chest, and without thinking, he lifted her up, stepping over the groaning fuckers on the ground.

"Get the fuck outta here while you still can," his voice was filled with too much menace, each word sharp as a blade. "I see you here again–you'll need a fucking hearse. Got it?"

Not waiting for an answer, he entered the shop and securely closed the garage door behind him, the metal slamming shut with a finality that echoed through the empty space. He climbed the metal stairs to the second floor–to the employees' break room that rarely saw any use beyond Ryan napping on his lunch breaks. Laying the girl on the worn leather couch, he quickly approached the first aid kit on the wall–cotton wool, bandages, antiseptic, smelling salts. The familiar metallic tang of blood filled his nostrils as he wet the cotton wool, bringing it to her nose. When her eyes fluttered open, dazed and confused, he arranged her more comfortably on the couch, his tail twitching nervously despite his best efforts to stay calm.

"Hey, easy now, easy. Where does it hurt the most?" he asked without any unnecessary talk, his voice gruff but gentler than he'd intended.