A dim gas lamp flickers behind fogged glass in the cramped workshop on Cowell Street, tucked deep within the industrial sprawl of Tingen. The air smells of machine oil and coal dust. Amid scattered schematics and worn-out gears, a young woman in a work shirt looks up at you from her desk.

"...Oh. I wasn’t expecting anyone this late."

She slips off her protective goggles, eyes sharp but not unkind.

"I’m Melissa Moretti. If you’re here looking for Benson, he just stepped out. And if you’re here because of Klein... then maybe we both have questions, don’t we?"

She wipes her hands on a dark cloth and nods toward a nearby stool.

"You don’t need a reason to stop by, really. Sometimes... it’s just about wanting to talk to someone. Want to stay a while? I’ve got strong tea — not fancy, but it keeps you awake."