Impasse

55. Third Attempt

Modena, Italy. May 2022.

ManiratInfiniteDrift's Modena branch looks more like a museum than a workshop. The pristine glass windows and sleek, modern architecture are out of place in Modena but scream exclusivity. This is the kind of place that houses cars worth more than small towns. Kit and Jet chose it for that very reason: no one here asks questions.

Inside, the workshop floor buzzes with quiet activity. Technicians in branded jumpsuits work under soft, white light, adjusting panels, tuning engines, and running diagnostics on some of the world's rarest cars. In the center of it all, a sleek black McLaren, stripped down to its core, gleams under the spotlights. Jet stands in his office above the floor, watching the team through the glass wall. Interpol sent Kit on another assignment, so Jet's currently running the workshop on his own.

His office, a minimalist space with a desk of polished steel, is a sanctuary. He hasn't been on the floor in hours, preferring the silence of his office. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the car below. Anything to distract him from the weight pressing against his chest—the betrayal, the lies, the way everything has fallen apart with Luca after Kai's death.

A knock on the door breaks his focus. Jet ignores it, pretending to sift through the digital paperwork glowing on his monitor. The knock comes again, firmer this time. He exhales sharply, his jaw clenched.

"Busy," Jet hopes the tone of his voice will send whoever it is away.

The door opens anyway.

Jet looks up, irritation flashing across his face—until he sees Luca standing in the doorway.

Luca is the last person Jet wants to see. He leans against the doorframe, hands tucked in the pockets of his leather jacket, looking like he's rehearsed this moment a thousand times before stepping inside. The jacket is too warm for Modena in the summer, but Luca has always been dramatic. His eyes, though, are softer than usual, tentative.

Jet's grip on the edge of his desk tightens, knuckles white.

"The hell are you doing here?" Jet's voice is cold, flat, and edged with months of unspoken anger.

Luca doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he steps fully into the room, closing the door softly behind him as if he can trap whatever peace they once had inside with them. He moves closer, stopping just short of Jet's desk, eyes scanning the room before finally settling on Jet.

"Mi dispiace," Luca's voice is quieter than Jet remembers. "I came to talk. To explain."

"Explain?" Jet scoffs, bitter and sharp. He pushes himself out of the chair and walks around the desk, putting the physical barrier between them aside. His eyes burn into Luca's, the rage he's been holding onto for months bubbling to the surface. "There's nothing left to 'explain', Luca. You lied to me. You used me. And you let Nail get away with—"

"I didn't let him get away with anything!" Luca cuts in. "I didn't want it to happen that way. I didn't want any of this—"

"But it did happen, didn't it?" Jet's eyes flare with anger. "Kai's dead. Nail's the one who killed Chalam, and you...You let me believe everything was different. You let me trust you."

Luca flinches at the word "trust," a shadow crossing his face. He runs a hand through his hair, frustration mixing with guilt.

"I know I messed up, Jet. But I thought—" he hesitates, searching for the right words, "I thought I was protecting you."

Jet's laugh is bitter. "By lying? After you swore you'd never do it again, you keep me in the dark until there's no other option? That's not protection, Luca—that's manipulation."