It's a stern voice lacking any air of understanding. "The higher ups are pushing on this claim, Mrs. Hopper. It's out of my hands now."

Mollie's hand tightens around the phone against her ear and its boxy edges dig furrows of pain into her palm. "I've skipped lunch for two days straight, Gregory."

Gregory's voice comes through the speaker again. "I know, but we don't have any other agents in the area. One more day isn't going to hurt."

She could say something: stand up for herself and demand her lunch break this time. Maybe even yell a few words she's been saving special for him. Instead she laments, staring out over the park from her usual bench with a lunch box partially unzipped in her lap. Unkempt grass sways in the wind with a subtle crinkle of dry, brownish blades.

"Fine. This is the last time, though." Mollie says.

Gregory ends the call the next instant, which her phone announces with a discordant chirp.

Anger flares in her chest, but a gust of wind steals it away along with a sigh. She drops the now-blank brick into her purse at her side. Wind surges around her, casting her sand-brown hair into a frenzy. Panic grasps at her: the higher ups would fire her immediately if they saw one of their agent's this unkempt, regardless of whether mother nature was to blame. She slides a hair tie out of her blazer's pocket and wraps the flying strands into a tight bun. All in one smooth, well-practiced motion.

The lunch box in her lap stares up at her, taunting half-open and heavy with whatever Ed wanted to surprise her with when he packed it this morning. Not enough time... She zips it back up, slings it over her shoulder, and starts off to the mechanic's shop.

----------------------------------------

Set near a gravel parking lot, amid an always-expanding field of rust-clad car husks, sits Mrs. Ramos' mechanic shop. Just the thought of dealing with the owner tugs at Mollie's eyelids with a tinge of exhaustion: a woman too tense, too angry, and ready to snap at the slightest offense. Mollie lets out a rare, but hushed curse and strides toward the shop: careful not to scuff her jet-black business loafers on the shifting rocks underfoot, of course.

The overhead doors are already open. Crackling and hissing of a welding torch drowns out the traffic passing by on the other side of the lot. With a deep breath, Mollie dips her head through one of the openings and calls out. "Mrs. Ramos? I'm here for that inspection."

Welding stops and footsteps echo around the concrete interior, coming closer. Mollie squints, fighting off the haze left behind by sunlight. "Mrs. Ramos?"

A mechanic steps out of the haze and into the sun: grease-smeared jumpsuit, curly hair drawn into a massive bun at the back of her head, and a grey-brown cat wearing a medical cone curled around her neck sleeping. Elia Ramos passes by Mollie without a glance. "Follow me, then."

Mollie starts after her. "Thanks so much for your time, Mrs. Ramos."

Mrs. Ramos gives each footfall the slightest bit more heft. "Elia."

A cringe shoots through Mollie's face: the stress is getting to her, making her make mistakes. She settles into step beside Elia. "Right, right! Apologies. Now about the car... When did it get dropped off at the shop? Has there been any damage since it's been here? Do you have a quote together for the necessary repairs?"

Elia's right hand tightens. "One at a time — please."

Again, another mistake and more stress. "Sorry, of course. When did it get dropped off?"

"Around noon."

"Has there been any damage sin—"

Elia cuts her off. "No."

"Okay, and do you have a quote ready?"

"Yeah. It's not going to be cheap."

Mollie scrambles, weaving after Elia through a maze of rusty husks. "That's perfectly fine, if the claim is approved you don't have to worry about that."

Elia stops, hair peeking over two crushed car bodies. Her voice echoes off the metal surrounding them. "It better get approved, it's been here taking up space and space isn't free."

Pain stabs at the soles of Mollie's feet: thank god she took loafers instead of heels today. She struggles through the last stretch of maze-like stacks and emerges into an open area, surrounded by towers of crushed cars and one fence blocking off the area from the pedestrian and car traffic beyond. A mess of a 2305 Rolls-Royce Dawn sits in the center of the clearing next to an equally banged up motorcycle. Mollie darts beside the Rolls-Royce and flips open a notebook. "How'd you even get this back here? And isn't this a bit more... modern than the stuff you usually handle?"

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

No response, Elia just leans back against the chain-link fence with a clatter and crosses her arms. Okay, then. No chitchat.

Mollie pours over every minuscule detail of the wreck: squatting, leaning, weird push-up poses to avoid kneeling into the gravel and ripping holes in her pantyhose. There's paint scratches, a bent frame, cracked headlights, torn-off bumper, no glass left to speak of. Also a blackened hole from the passenger door all the way through the driver's side door. Where a blast of plasma — allegedly — burned away everything in its path.

Mollie pulls a blue glove out of her purse and stretches it on with a snap. Raised drips of metal run down the door, liquid at the time of the incident but now cold. She runs a gloved finger over the scorch marks and around the inside of the hole. No burrs; ash comes away with a touch, but the metal stays black; uneven ripples across the surface radiating from where the plasma would have hit. All consistent with previous plasma damage reports. She crumples the glove back into her purse and starts scrawling down her notes.

Generic bells arranged in a generic melody ring out: the factory default ringtone for Mollie's phone that she never got around to changing. Panic, sweat, anger. If it's Gregory, she might just kill the man. She fumbles with the notepad and the purse zipper.

Avery's name blazes on the phone's screen above one green and one red pulsing circle. Mollie's eye's widen, her stomach drops, and her mind runs with endless, horrible possibilities. Is she okay?

A meow comes from Elia's direction, and the cat stretches out over the mechanic's shoulders. Little paws reaching out to something far away in either direction. On the less cute and more scary side of the scale, Elia glares at Mollie.

Tapping the accept button and covering the phone's receiver, Mollie casts a nervous smile at Elia. "Sorry, I'll just be a second..." She finds privacy on the other side of a pile of crushed cars, then whispers into the receiver. "Avery?"

Her daughter's voice comes through the speaker, hints of stuffiness muffling the words. "Hey, Mom. Are you busy?"

Did she forget to take her allergy medicine? Could stop by the aquarium between this inspection and the next... Mollie searches through her purse for her travel-size bottle of loratadine. "Kind of: working through lunch again. Do you need anything?"

"O-oh, sorry. Don't worry about it, Mom. I can call back later."

Mollie stops pushing things aside, hand still inside the bag. "You're sure? Nothing that can't wait?"

"I'm sure. Don't worry. Bye, I'll talk to you soon."

"Alright, dear. Bye bye."

The call ends with a chirp and the screen goes blank. Mollie stares at it for a moment, thinking. Maybe I should stop by the aquarium, just in case she needs that allergy medicine.

Back at the car, all that's left is to take pictures and commit them to the appropriate claim entry. And Elia's ever-present glare burrowing into Mollie's back. Mollie circles around the wreck, phone in hand, performing acrobatic lunges, squats and more to get the pictures she needs without roughing up her appearance.

A deep voice calls from the fence that definitely doesn't belong to Elia or the cat. "Hey, Mollie!"

Mollie's ears perk up, her heart flutters into her throat, and her stress melts away at those two simple words. She whirls her head around, big ridiculous grin and all. "What are you doing here, Ed?"

Beside her husband with his five o'clock shadow peaking through his usual goatee, Elia looks like a kettle about to scream. "God damn it, can she just finish this so I can go back to work?"

Ed flashes Elia a pained, lips-only smile: the same one he uses whenever Mollie is even slightly cross with him. "There's actually a tiny family emergency. Sorry to interrupt you all, but if I could talk to Mollie..."

The pressure releases and red drains from Elia's face; her eyes glaze over with an odd sense that Mollie can't place. "Whatever, I'm going back. You can find your own way out of here, Mollie. Come back tomorrow if you have to." She marches off through the rust-covered husks, cat bouncing happily on her shoulders.

Confusion pushes Mollie's sudden rush of relief out of her mind and she scrambles up to the fence. "Why are you here?"

Ed laces his fingers through the chain-links. "Avery had something happen. Not sure what, but she barged in and locked herself in her room a couple hours ago."

A whisper drifts out from the depths of a pit in her stomach, along with a tendril that latches onto her heart and threatens to send it spinning out of control. She'll never forgive you.

Mollie eyes almost close by themselves and she takes a breath, playing through a practiced image in her mind.

A cardboard box stops in front of her on the conveyor belt; a box with her own name scrawled across the side, splotchy and uneven. She reaches out. Her hand trembles forward, getting closer and closer. Then the conveyor belt starts up and whatever was inside whisks out of sight and out of mind.

No more pressure. She exhales. "Why didn't you call me?"

"You were busy. Made the lass a carrot cake, so was a bit busy myself."

Mollie shoots a glare past Ed and into the shifting traffic. "I still want to know if something's wrong."

"Are you sure? Even if she's still figuring something out? If there isn't anything you can do yet?"

"Of course I do."

"She's almost out on her own, you know."

She steps up to the fence and wraps her fingers around her own chain-link. "What's that matter?"

He stares at her, searching for whatever point he was trying to make. Probably. Regardless, he ends it with a shrug. "I suppose it doesn't."

"It doesn't." Guilt tugs at Mollie's mind, desperate for an inkling of recognition. "She called me not too long ago, asking if I was busy."

His expression shifts, lips pulling down into a grimace. "Are you alright?"

You're not, she'll never forgive you: she'll never trust you again.

Mollie jerks her eyes closed, but opens them back up with a sigh "Just fine. I can handle it today, especially if you buy me lunch."

"I already made you something, didn't—"

Mollie spins on the heel of her loafer and starts her way back through the maze of car husks. "There's this new sushi place around the corner. Let's eat, then we can go back home and check on her."