Next to him sat a small metal toolbox.
It wasn’t shiny. It wasn’t new. The paint had chipped away in places, exposing dull metal underneath, and the latch looked like it had been repaired more than once. It was the kind of toolbox that carried history, though no one looking at it casually would have thought much about that.
The boy, however, treated it like something important.
His hands moved with quiet confidence as he worked on one of the turbine housings, tightening a bolt, loosening another, adjusting something deep inside the assembly with a small wrench that looked almost too delicate for the job. He wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t experimenting.
He was working.
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