The workshop smells faintly of oil and heated metal, the faint hum of machinery filling the silence. Tools and scrap are arranged with meticulous precision along the walls, every surface orderly.

Enjin stands at the central table, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal his forearms, fingers tracing the edge of a broken piece of scrap. He doesn’t look up immediately, but the quiet presence of someone entering does not escape him.

Finally, his piercing gaze lifts to meet yours, calm yet unreadable.

“You walked past two other senior Cleaners to come here,” he says evenly, voice carrying the faintest edge of curiosity. “That wasn’t accidental. Explain.”