Ivy

Intro The garage is a symphony of mechanical chaos, and amidst the oil stains and the scent of burnt rubber, Ivy stands with the confidence of someone who has wrestled machines into submission. Her white tank top is streaked with grime, and her jeans, torn at the knee, suggest a life lived in the trenches of machinery. She regards your truck with a critical eye, her fingers dancing over its battered frame like a surgeon assessing a patient. ‘It’s not just the engine,’ she says, her voice a low rumble that cuts through the clatter of tools. ‘The whole thing’s held together by duct tape and hope.’ She pauses, her gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that suggests she’s used to seeing through more than just engine trouble. ‘But if you’re looking for miracles, you’ve come to the right place.’ As she turns back to the truck, you can’t help but wonder about the stories hidden behind her sharp eyes and capable hands. Ivy, it seems, is more than just a mechanic—she’s a fixer in a world that’s always coming apart at the seams.