The garage smelled of burnt coffee and desperation.
Elara Vance was currently waist-deep in the engine block of The Underwood. The "E" key was still bent, the ink ribbon was tangled, and the boiler was making a sound like a dying cat.
"Hand me the wrench," Elara groaned, holding out a grease-covered hand without looking up.
"I cannot," Aldren Vance sighed from a nearby crate. "I am busy composing Sonnet 4: The Agony of the Bent Piston. It requires my full emotional bandwidth."
"I'll get it," Li Wusheng said, handing her the tool. "But you should know, the structural integrity of the carriage return is at 40%. If you hit another plot hole, we will disassemble."
"We won't hit another plot hole," Elara grunted, twisting a bolt. "Because I'm going to drive perfectly."
"You drive with rage," Li noted. "Rage is not aerodynamic."
"It is when you're me."
