Page 32 of Thor

"Right hand: front brake and throttle." He positioned my right hand, rotating it slightly. "Twist toward you for more power. Away from you to slow down. Careful with it. Gentle."

I nodded, hyperaware of his breath against my ear.

"Left foot: gear shift." He tapped my left boot. "Down for first, then up for each higher gear. Neutral is between first and second—half a click up from first."

My head was swimming with information, my body tense with the unfamiliar position and Thor's nearness.

"Right foot: rear brake." He guided my right foot to a pedal. "Use both brakes together, always. Front does most of the work, but rear keeps you stable."

"There's so much to remember," I said, my voice tight with anxiety.

"Your body will learn," Thor replied, his deep voice resonating against my back. "Muscle memory kicks in fast."

He stepped back slightly, but kept one hand on the handlebar. "We'll just practice starting and stopping today. When I tell you, squeeze the clutch, press the starter button with your right thumb, and give it a little throttle. Just a tiny twist."

I took a deep breath, trying to remember all the controls. Clutch, throttle, brakes, gears. Too many things to coordinate at once.

"Ready?" Thor asked.

"Not even slightly," I admitted.

His low chuckle surprised me. "Do it anyway."

I squeezed the clutch lever, pressed the starter button, and gave the throttle a timid twist. The engine sputtered, then died.

"More throttle," Thor instructed. "Don't be afraid of it."

I tried again, giving it more gas this time. The engine roared to life with a rumble that vibrated through my entire body. I jumped, nearly dropping the bike, but Thor's steady hand kept it upright.

"Easy," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the engine. "It responds to your energy. If you're nervous, it knows."

"That's not helpful," I shot back, my knuckles white around the handlebars.

"Breathe," he said, and demonstrated with an exaggerated inhale. "The bike is an extension of you. Trust it."

I forced myself to take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. The engine's vibration changed, settling into a smoother rhythm as if it sensed my effort.

"Good," Thor said, and I felt absurdly pleased by the approval in his voice. "Now, still holding the clutch, put it in first gear. Left foot down."

I pressed down with my left foot, feeling the gear engage with a solid click.

"Perfect. Now, very slowly, start to release the clutch while giving it a little throttle. Find the friction point where the engine connects to the wheels."

I did as instructed, gradually releasing the clutch. The bike lurched forward violently, then stalled. I put my feet down quickly, heart pounding.

"Too fast on the clutch, not enough throttle," Thor said, without a hint of impatience. "Try again."

We repeated the process five more times. On the sixth attempt, I found the right balance—the motorcycle moved forward smoothly, carrying me a few feet before I panicked and squeezed both brakes, bringing it to an abrupt halt.

"I did it!" The disbelief in my voice made Thor smile—a real smile that transformed his rugged face.

"You did," he agreed, something like pride warming his voice. "Again. This time, go a little farther before you stop."

By the tenth attempt, I was able to get the bike moving and ride in a wobbly straight line for about twenty feet before stopping. The sense of accomplishment was ridiculously disproportionate to the actual achievement.

"Now try turning," Thor suggested. "Lean your body slightly in the direction you want to go. The bike follows your weight."

The first turn was terrifying—I went too slow and turned the handlebars too sharply, nearly tipping over before Thor steadied the bike with a hand on my shoulder.

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