At eight o'clock, Lab 7 had three extra people in it. Two integration technicians in high-visibility vests stood by the transfer cart, checking wheel locks and tie-down straps. The prototype sat between them on the bench, the freshly milled bracket dull and unpolished against the chassis, the nylon washers sitting invisible beneath the corner standoffs. Dana signed the custody form on her tablet, the stylus making small, rhythmic taps against the screen. "Transfer protocol verified," Dana said, looking up. "Integration assumes possession for system rehearsals through Thursday. That clears the emergency bench." Luke guided the back of the rig while the two techs slid it onto the pneumatic dolly. I caught a secondary sensor harness before a caster wheel could pinch it against the bench strut, clipping it neatly back into its transport bracket. Luke met my eyes over the top of the chassis. "All set," the lead tech said, releasing the brake. The cart rolled past the doorframe and into the hall, the low rattle of rubber tires fading down the corridor toward Integration Bay 3. Dana capped her stylus. "You're both officially released back to your primary queues. Try to remember what your actual job descriptions look like." "That sounds disciplinary," I said. "It probably is," Luke added. Dana walked out without confirming or denying it. Luke tossed a hex driver into his canvas bag, zipped it shut, and slung the strap over his shoulder. "See you around, Mercer." "Don't get lost, Hayes." The Systems floor on the fourth level smelled like carpet cleaner and lukewarm dark roast. My cubicle was untouched: two monitors running standby diagnostics, a sticky note on the bezel reminding me about an auxiliary sensor driver review, and three weeks of archived tickets waiting in the queue. Priya glanced over the divider as I dropped my bag onto the low filing cabinet. "You're back," she said. "Apparently." Her gaze stayed on my face long enough to become commentary. "Don't," I said, waking the main terminal. "I didn't say a word." "Correct." "I'm observing standard operating silence." She turned back to her dual screens. "Sensor integration requirements for the second-generation chassis are in your inbox. Dana dropped them off at seven-thirty." "Delightful." I spent four hours clearing the backlog: trace routing approvals, bus latency checks, and a set of calibration profiles that someone in hardware had documented upside-down. At twelve-fifteen, my phone buzzed against the mousepad. [Luke Hayes]: "Hungry? Mine or yours?" I typed back without checking the cafeteria cameras. Claire: "Yours. Breakroom by the mezzanine." [Luke Hayes]: "Five minutes." The hardware breakroom on the second floor had the good espresso machine and considerably less carpet. Luke was already at the counter, two paper containers, a black coffee, and a tea waiting on the laminate. He was wearing his standard charcoal work shirt, sleeves pushed past his wrists. I pulled out a stool across from him. "How's normal employment?" "Quiet," he said, pushing a container of noodles across the table. "Nobody's yelled at a motor bracket all morning. I spent two hours updating torque specifications in the database." "Thrilling." "Livestock futures were more dramatic." "Significantly," I agreed, popping the lid off my container. He leaned an arm on the table, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against his coffee cup. "Techs ran the initial power-on sequence in Bay 3 an hour ago. All rails nominal. The bracket didn't flinch." "Of course it didn't," I said. "We validated fifty cycles." "Just reporting data, Mercer." "Unnecessary reporting." We ate without rushing. A couple of junior techs from mechanical drifted past the doorway, nodded at Luke, and kept moving. At five-oh-two, my terminal shut down with its standard double-tone. The row of cubicles was emptying out, the usual shuffle of jackets, keys, and badge lanyards moving toward the exits. My phone vibrated in my palm. [Luke Hayes]: "Five. Mine or yours?" I looked at the screen, then typed my response before slinging my bag over my shoulder. [Claire]: “Yours.” [Luke Hayes]: "Downstairs in three." I clicked the screen dark, dropped the phone into my pocket, and grabbed my keys from the tray. Priya was shutting down her secondary monitor as I cleared the row. She looked at her watch, then up at me. "Leaving at five-oh-five? On a Monday?" "System handoff is complete," I told her. "Nothing is on fire." Priya smiled slightly, not looking away. "I said nothing this morning. My contractual obligation to mind my own business has expired." "Goodnight, Priya." "Have fun, Claire." I took the stairs down two at a time, pushed through the heavy glass doors into the cool evening air, and headed across the asphalt toward the truck waiting by the gate.

Chapter 21: Handoff