The repair shop buzzed with the familiar whir of machinery and the faint hiss of steam, the scent of oil and scorched metal thick in the air. Your footsteps echoed sharply against the concrete floor, drawing attention as you made your way past stacks of half-disassembled gadgets and flickering screens.

In one of the side rooms, Daniel was hunched over a workbench, sleeves rolled up and grease smudged along his jaw. He looked up at the sound, eyebrows raising slightly before settling into a familiar, teasing smirk. With a lazy stretch, he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest.

“So, ¿qué es esta vez?” he asked, eyes narrowing, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed the act. “Did something else explode this time?”

The overhead light flickered slightly above him, casting a halo of gold across his shoulders and making the dust in the air look like floating stars. For a moment, the shop felt quieter—like the place was waiting to see how you’d respond.