The shed smells like hot metal and damp wood.
Silas is at the bench, visor down, welding torch hissing steadily. A half-finished plate is clamped in the vice, matte black, scored with stress lines that don’t look accidental if you know what you’re looking for.
Leo stands a few feet back with a tablet in hand. A wireframe model rotates slowly on the screen, patient in a way the room isn’t.
“If we distribute the load across a honeycomb lattice, it lowers peak stress by thirty percent,” Leo says.
Silas doesn’t look up.
“It’ll crack.”
Leo frowns and swipes the model, fingers quick, almost defensive. The structure redraws itself, cleaner this time.
“The math holds,” Leo says. “The force spreads—”
“On the first hit.”
Silas cuts the torch. Sparks die out in a hiss. He flips the visor up and leans back just enough to look at the plate.
“You’re thinking clean load. Straight lines,” he says. “He doesn’t hit like that anymore.”
Leo hesitates, fingers hovering above the screen.
“He’s more controlled now,” Leo says, though the words don’t quite convince him.
Silas taps the plate with his knuckle. The sound is dull, unfinished.
“He’s sneakier,” Silas says. “He doesn’t slam the force. He sets it.”
He taps the metal again, harder. The sound barely changes.
“That means the metal doesn’t fail loud,” Silas continues. “It fails tired.”
Leo zooms in. Adds micro-stress markers. The model shifts from green to amber, like it’s blushing under scrutiny.
“Okay,” Leo says. “Repeated micro-fractures at the joints.”
Silas nods once.
“There it is.”
Leo adjusts again, thickening the lattice, reinforcing the edges. He slows down now, more careful.
“If I add flex at the anchor points, it absorbs the fatigue,” Leo says. He pauses, watching the simulation settle. “Mostly.”
Silas leans closer, close enough that Leo can feel the heat coming off him.
“And where does the load go?”
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Leo doesn’t answer right away. The model keeps rotating, patient, unbothered.
“…Into him.”
The heater hums. Somewhere outside, cooling metal ticks, slow and irregular.
“That’s the trade,” Silas says.
Leo swallows.
“So if we protect the suit, we hurt Kam,” Leo says. “If we protect Kam, the suit fails.”
Silas shrugs. It’s small. Practiced.
“Welcome to engineering.”
Leo stares at the tablet a moment longer.
“There’s no configuration where nobody pays.”
“Nope.”
Leo glances toward the door. Kam isn’t there. That feels deliberate.
“He’s not going to like that.”
Silas turns the torch back on. The arc flares white.
“He doesn’t have to like it,” Silas says. “He just has to know.”
Leo watches the stress map settle into amber instead of red.
Not solved.
Just managed.
The clip goes up before Kam even gets home.
It isn’t clean footage. Not cinematic. Just a shaky vertical video, rain smearing the lens, audio dropping out whenever the wind catches the mic.
It shows Kam stepping forward. The crack in the pavement. Three older boys backing off without being touched.
The caption reads:
nah this yute is heavy fr
It hits two thousand views in ten minutes.
Leo’s laptop is open on the desk. Three tabs. Two graphs. One comment section moving faster than he can track.
“This isn’t good,” Leo says, though he doesn’t look away.
“That’s cap,” Taylor says. “This is sick.”
“They didn’t even swing,” Marcus adds. “Man just existed and they dipped.”
Leo scrubs the video frame by frame.
“No visible heat. No flare,” Leo says. He pauses, then rewinds again. “But look at the crowd response.”
He highlights a cluster of comments.
that ain’t normal
bro bent the floor
this that shop guy?
“They’re pattern-recognising,” Leo says.
He doesn’t sound worried when he says it. That’s new.
Kam sits on the bed, hoodie still on. The disc presses into his arm harder than usual.
“I didn’t mean for it to—”
“I know,” Leo says. “But you crossed a threshold.”
“Yeah,” Taylor says. “You went from glitch to feature.”
That one lands.
Harry watches the same clip.
No sound. No expression.
He rewinds to the crack in the pavement. Pauses. Zooms in a fraction more than necessary.
“Oh,” Harry says.
He taps his earpiece.
“We’ve got a deviation.”
A voice replies.
“Severity?”
“Medium now.”
A pause.
“High soon.”
He pockets the phone.
Harry smiles, faintly.
Interested.
Silas slams the shed door shut.
“You felt that?” Silas says.
“Yeah.”
“That’s heat without flame,” Silas says. “That’s load without spill.”
He grabs Kam’s forearm, checking the lining with rough, practiced hands.
“You’re forging now,” Silas says. “Not venting.”
Marcus blinks. “Is that good?”
Silas looks at Kam.
“It means the system’s going to respond.”
A drone hum passes overhead. Clean. White. Quiet.
Everyone looks up.
“That’s not council,” Leo says.
“And that’s definitely not Amazon,” Taylor adds.
The drone slows. Scans. Moves on.
Silence returns heavier for having been broken.
“Harry,” Kam says.
“Yeah.”
Kam flexes his arm.
“Good.”
Maya leans on the railing, phone in hand.
She watches the clip again, slower this time. Pauses it on Kam’s face.
Focused. Calm. Present.
Her phone buzzes.
You should tell your friend to be careful.
She types back.
Who is this?
Three dots appear. Vanish. Appear again.
Someone who fixes problems before they spread.
Maya’s jaw tightens.
She looks out over the estate.
“He’s not a problem.”
She blocks the number.
Leo closes his laptop.
“Harry’s going to try and cap this.”
“Let him,” Kam says.
“No,” Leo replies. “You don’t get it. He won’t fight you.”
He looks up.
“He’ll invite you.”
“Invite him where?” Taylor asks.
Leo doesn’t answer straight away.
“Somewhere public,” he says. “Somewhere clean.”
He hesitates, then adds:
“Somewhere he controls the temperature.”
Kam stands. The hum is back now. Low. Contained.
“Then I’ll bring the heat.”
Silence.
Taylor grins.
“Say less.”
