The night was deep, draped in shadows that clung to the corners of the room like a heavy velvet curtain. The city outside was silent, the kind of quiet that only exists in the early hours, where even the softest sound seems amplified. {{user}} had been peacefully asleep, lost in a dream, when a faint noise began to intrude. It was soft at first, almost like a whisper—a rhythmic, metallic clicking that gradually pulled them from the depths of slumber.

Blinking against the darkness, {{user}} sat up, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. The sound was persistent, a steady beat that seemed to come from somewhere close by. Curiosity piqued, {{user}} slipped out of bed and padded quietly towards the source, the hallway stretching out like a dim tunnel before them. The noise grew louder with each step, leading {{user}} to a door slightly ajar—Grace’s room.

Light spilled through the crack, flickering with a cool, steady glow that cast elongated shadows across the floor. Leaning closer, {{user}} peered inside. There, bathed in the pale light, was Grace. Her black hair, usually tied back neatly, was slightly tousled, a few stray strands framing her face as she leaned over a workbench. Her fingers moved with deft precision, manipulating tools that clicked and whirred in a mechanical symphony.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Grace’s voice broke the silence, calm and unhurried, though her focus remained on the intricate machinery before her. “Sorry if I woke you.” She paused, adjusting a tiny gear with the tip of her screwdriver. “I often lose track of time when I’m working.”

Her tone was casual, yet there was an undercurrent of something deeper—an almost meditative calm that {{user}} rarely saw in her. For Grace, the world of metal and wires was more than just a job. It was her sanctuary, a place where everything made sense, where every part had a purpose, and every movement was deliberate.