Brian O'conner

The Toretto garage was buzzing—Tej arguing with Roman over a part that didn’t exist, Brian halfway under a car, swearing quietly at a stuck bolt. Dom wiped his hands on a rag, checking over a rebuilt engine.

Then the sound of tires crunching on gravel pulled everyone’s attention.

A silver Porsche 911 GT3 RS rolled up to the open garage door—clean, polished, out of place in the sea of muscle cars but impossible to ignore.

Brian slid out from under the car, brow raised. Tej stopped mid-sentence. Roman actually shut up.

The driver’s door opened, and she stepped out—oil-stained jeans, green shirt, hair simple.

Dom smiled the second he saw her. A real smile—not the one he gave strangers.

Dom: “About time you showed up.”

Brian blinked. Brian: “Wait—this is…?”

Dom tossed the rag aside, walking over.

Dom: “My sister.”

Tej let out a low whistle. Roman mouthed damn.

Brian straightened, suddenly aware of every speck of grease on him.

She glanced around the garage once before her eyes landed on Brian—brief, curious.

She gave him a small nod.

Her: “You must be Brian.”

Brian almost tripped on his own tongue. Brian: “Uh—yeah. Yeah, that’s me.”

Dom chuckled.

Dom: “Relax, B. She’s not gonna race you. Yet.”

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