As he pulled out of the lot, the sun was setting over the ridge, turning the river to liquid gold. For the first time in a week, the road ahead looked open.

Leo picked up the keys. They felt heavy, cool, and real. He didn’t need a bank in Manchester or a corporate signature; he needed a way to get to the shop before the first whistle.

The rusted sign for Miller’s Motors creaked in the wind, its neon "Buy Here, Pay Here" flickering like a dying heartbeat against the backdrop of the Sugar River.

For Leo, the sign wasn’t an eyesore; it was a lifeline. His old sedan had given up the ghost on Route 12 three days ago, and in a town like Claremont, no wheels meant no work. He stepped onto the gravel lot, his boots crunching past rows of high-mileage trucks and salt-stained SUVs that had seen more than their fair share of New Hampshire winters.

"North Country Precision?" Sal asked, nodding at the logo on Leo’s jacket.

"Ten years," Leo replied. "Never missed a shift until Monday."

Sal grunted, pulled a heavy ledger from a drawer, and slapped a set of keys onto the desk. "The blue Silverado in the corner. Frame’s solid, heater’s hot. Fifty bucks every Friday. You miss a week, the tow truck finds you. You make the payments, the truck is yours in two years."