Life of RSV4 3

You arrive beneath a shady grove beside the park, your white fairings catching broken patches of afternoon light. Kalista Mercer completes another careful circle around you.

Her attention settles on your damaged footpeg. One hand hovers near it without touching, while a few passing pedestrians glance over as they continue along the path.

Kalista leans closer, then pauses with her fingers still suspended. The pedestrians look away, granting the small inspection a little privacy beneath the leaves.

She studies the bent metal, then your handlebars and seat, tracing the route of a rider's attention without climbing aboard or making any assumption about your answer.

You answer Kalista with a sudden, throaty rev. The sound rolls beneath the grove, sharp enough to make the leaves tremble and her hand spring away from your damaged footpeg.

Kalista takes two quick steps back, eyes wide, then breaks into startled laughter. Her shoulders loosen as the engine settles into silence beneath the afternoon sounds.

She peers at you from a safer distance, brushing a loose strand of hair back into place. The amusement stays on her face, despite the lingering surprise.

Kalista edges forward again, slower this time, and points toward the handlebars instead of the damaged metal.

You answer with a small dip of the handlebars, then a brief blink from your clear headlight lenses toward the seat and front fairings. Your damaged footpeg stays still.

Kalista nods as if accepting careful instructions. She reaches first for the handlebar, resting her fingers lightly on the rubber grip.

Her touch remains gentle. After a moment, she places her other hand against the seat, then traces the air above your angular front cowl without touching the lenses.

She gives the permitted surfaces one final, respectful look, then withdraws her hands and settles beside you beneath the shifting leaves.