The chicken shop was a box of harsh, clinical white light.

  It smelled of deep-fried batter and lemon wipes. The only sound was the hum of a refrigerator and the tapping of the bored guy behind the counter scrolling on TikTok.

  Kam, Taylor, and Leo sat in a booth at the back.

  They looked like survivors of a shipwreck that happened on land. They were wet, muddy, and silent.

  On the table sat a "Family Feast" bucket (mostly untouched), three cans of Mirinda, and Leo’s diagnostic tablet.

  Kam stared at his left arm. He had pushed the wet hoodie sleeve up. The skin around the metal port was angry and red. The veins weren't glowing orange anymore—they were dark purple, bruised and sluggish.

  "The thermal paste is shot," Leo said, poking at a cold chicken wing with a plastic fork. "And the coolant residue is clogging the intake. It’s like pouring concrete into a radiator."

  "Can you flush it?" Taylor asked.

  "I need a solvent. Something high-grade." Leo looked at the soda can. "Not sugar water."

  Kam didn't speak. He picked up a wing. He crushed it between his fingers, bone and meat snapping effortlessly. He dropped the mess onto the paper tray.

  "He didn't open the door," Kam said.

  His voice was low. He wasn’t complaining. He was reporting a structural failure.

  Taylor leaned back. He had wiped the mud off his face, but his red puffer was ruined—scorched black at the cuffs.

  "He was angry, Kam," Taylor said. "It’s mechanic talk. They always flame the DPS when they overextend."

  "He saw the clips," Kam said. "The ones Daniel boosted."

  "The algorithm worked, though," Leo said, typing on the tablet, not looking up. "You were trending in Southwark for forty minutes."

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  "Leo," Taylor snapped. "Read the room."

  Leo stopped typing. He adjusted his glasses.

  "I’m just stating the metrics. Daniel’s strategy generated heat." He pointed at Kam’s arm. "Literal and metaphorical. The system isn't built for that kind of uptime."

  Kam looked out the window. The rain was streaking the glass.

  "Silas built this engine to lift girders," Kam said. "To break concrete. Not to perform."

  "We needed the money, Kam," Taylor said. "The coolant isn't free. The lead lining isn't free."

  Kam put his head in his hands.

  "If I can’t go back to Silas," Kam asked, "who fixes the lining when it cracks next time?"

  Silence settled again, heavier than the grease smell.

  Leo looked at his screen. The blue light reflected in his glasses.

  "I can try to patch the firmware," Leo said. "Cap your output at 60%."

  Kam looked up. "60%?"

  "It’s a hardware nerf," Leo said. "You won’t be able to lift cars. You won’t be able to bend steel beams. You’ll just be... strong. Like, 'gym strong.' Not 'industrial strong.'"

  "That defeats the point," Taylor said. "If he’s just 'gym strong,' Harry will eat him alive."

  "And Daniel won’t be able to sell clips of me bench-pressing a Toyota," Kam said.

  "It keeps you from melting," Leo shrugged. "That’s the patch notes. Take it or leave it."

  Kam looked at his arm again. The purple bruises. The metal port that looked like a bullet wound. He thought about the heat. The way it felt like his blood was boiling. He thought about the door that didn't open.

  "Do it," Kam said. "Nerf it."

  Leo nodded. He pulled a cable from his bag. He plugged it into the tablet, then reached across the table.

  "Give me the arm."

  Kam extended his arm over the bucket of chicken. Leo plugged the cable into the port. BEEP.

  "Uploading limiter..."

  Taylor watched the progress bar on the screen. "This is a temp fix, right?"

  "It’s a band-aid on a bullet wound," Leo said. "But it buys us time."

  "Time for what?"

  Leo finished the upload. He unplugged the cable.

  "Time to find out who that girl was."

  Kam rubbed his arm. It felt colder. Heavier. Less alive.

  "The girl with the notebook?" Kam asked.

  "I ran a search on the uniform while we were walking," Leo said, tapping the tablet. "Grey blazer. White trim. That’s St. Jude’s Academy."

  "So?" Taylor asked. "It’s a posh school."

  "It’s a feeder school for the Guilds." Leo looked at Kam. "She wasn't a random NPC, Kam. She was scouting."

  Kam stared at Leo.

  "Scouting for who?"

  "I don’t know," Leo said. "But if she saw the steam... and she saw the coolant... she knows the build isn't stock."

  Taylor stood up. He zipped his ruined jacket.

  "Great," Taylor said. "So we have no Mechanic. We have a broken engine. And now we have a spy."

  He grabbed a chicken wing.

  "Let’s go home," Taylor said. "I need to sleep before I rage-quit life."

  They stood up.

  They walked out of the bright, safe light of the chicken shop and back into the dark, wet reality of London.