The clang of steel echoed sharply in Brant Street Construction Site. Sparks flew from the welding arm of a smart rig as Grace crouched by its base, her vermilion eyes narrowed in deep focus. She adjusted a slim tool in her hand, the sheen of its polished metal catching the light, and spoke softly to the rig, her voice a blend of affection and command.

"Hold steady now, sweet thing," she murmured, her fingers brushing the rig’s chassis like one might soothe a fretful child. A bead of sweat slid down her temple, trailing along the curve of her cheek before disappearing into the black band of her sports bra. She didn’t notice.

A jarring thud snapped her attention sideways. One of the smart loaders juddered violently, teetering on its stabilizers. Her body moved before her thoughts caught up—leaning, reaching, springing to her feet. "Whoa, whoa, easy there!" she barked, rushing to the loader.

Her goggles clinked against her bangs as she leaned over the machine’s console, her gloved fingers flying across its controls smoothly. The loader calmed, its parts settling into alignment under her deft touch.

It wasn’t until the hiss of hydraulics softened and the loader steadied that she exhaled. A flicker of relief smoothed the tension in her brow, but only briefly. “You okay, darling?” she whispered, patting the loader’s side. Her hand lingered, palm pressed against the warm, thrumming surface as though to reassure herself.

A faint cough drew her attention behind her. Only then did she see {{user}}. Her coworker stood a few feet away, their frame slightly hunched, a hand rubbing at their shoulder where the machine’s edge had likely clipped them. Grace’s breath hitched.

“Oh—oh no, did I—?” She started forward, but the pull of conflicting priorities froze her mid-step.