Swift paused at the workbench, fingers hovering over the gloves he had laid out.

  He wasn’t carving yet. Instead, he was running numbers.

  If my total BP is 120… and “indestructible” drained everything… then with BP restoring at 1 per minute, I’ve got two hours before I’m full again.

  It wasn’t exact math—he had no display, no meters, just the faded hue of his tattoo as a vague indicator. But it gave him a window. Time to think. Time to plan his next move.

  But first, he had to protect someone.

  He turned to Lee, who was wiping down a set of tools.

  “I need to tell you something,” he said, voice steady.

  She looked up, curious but calm. “Alright.”

  “It’s about blessings,” he said. “And BP. There’s a rule—the kind no one talks about.”

  He held up his wrist and showed her the tattoo. Two dots, still faint from the earlier drain but slowly regaining their color.

  “If you use up all your BP to bless something,” Swift said, “your tattoo shrinks. Sometimes it vanishes entirely. And if that happens… your weapon becomes useless. It won’t evolve. It won’t even make ammo.”

  Lee's brow furrowed, eyes flicking to the mark. “But yours is still there.”

  Swift nodded. “It’s faded, but it’s not smaller. That’s why I think the blessing didn’t take. Maybe it started, maybe it cut out because I ran out of power mid-process.”

  He didn’t lie. Not exactly. The real reason the tattoo didn’t shrink was tied to the gift he received—the divine safeguard against regression. But she didn’t need to know his secret. If the church came looking, she could say she didn’t know. And mean it.

  Lee stared at his wrist for a moment, then back at him. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Alright, kiddo. That’s... terrifying.”

  “But you believe me?”

  She tilted her head, reading his face. “You’re too serious to be making it up. Yeah, I believe you.”

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Then she grinned.

  “And besides—if you don’t figure this out, that fancy helmet is going to stay nothing but a dream.”

  He gave a tired chuckle. “Thanks for the encouragement.”

  “I’ve seen worse failure,” she said with a shrug. “You’ll get it. Just takes time.”

  Then she reached behind her bench and lifted something carefully into view.

  Swift’s eyes widened.

  It was the helmet.

  Finished.

  A backward-facing Kevlar-wrapped cap with angular pivot joints anchored at the temples. Attached to them was a single, unified piece—the visor and face mask fused seamlessly into one smooth structure. The mask was sleek, molded close to the face, with a clean curve hugging the jawline. Glass lenses reinforced with an inner mesh offered visibility without fragility. And at the ears—two slim, contoured hearing protectors, smooth and matte, integrated like they belonged.

  She set it down in front of him.

  “You were looking like you needed motivation,” she said.

  “It’s... perfect,” he said quietly, running a hand along the curved surface.

  “Hardest damn thing I’ve built in ten years,” she said proudly, wiping a smear of oil off her cheek. “Now make the damn thing glow, yeah?”

  He smiled, but held up a hand. “Not yet. I need to wait. I’m still drained.”

  Lee wiped her hands and clapped once. “Then let’s eat. You came running over before sunrise. I bet you haven’t touched food.”

  Swift hesitated for only a moment. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

  They stepped into the back room—simple but clean. A narrow wooden table, a pair of battered chairs, and a small stovetop over a bed of heated stones. Lee cracked eggs and chopped dried vegetables with the casual efficiency of someone who cooked mostly to keep working.

  This was the first time they’d sat and ate together.

  Most of their collaboration had been over sawdust, blueprints, and scattered scraps.

  Over a late breakfast—technically lunch—Swift asked, “Why’d you keep the shop going?”

  Lee glanced at him. “That’s a big question for eggs and onions.”

  “I realized I’ve never asked about you. Not really. Felt overdue.”

  She didn’t answer immediately.

  “It was a family shop. My father ran it. My uncle before him. Then it was me and my sister. Now it’s just me.”

  I know the feeling.

  Swift looked down at his plate. “I’m sorry.”

  She waved it off. “It’s life. You keep the machines running. Keep the hearth warm.”

  He didn’t press. But after a quiet moment, she added, “I almost got married once.”

  Her voice dipped slightly there. A kind of nostalgia threaded with regret.

  “But I fell in love with this place instead. The shop never walks out on you. The work is always honest.”

  Swift nodded. He didn’t push further.

  Instead, he offered something lighter.

  “You’re still young. Don’t give up on love just yet.”

  Lee blinked. Then burst out laughing. “Young, huh?”

  “You are,” he said. “At least you don’t look like someone who’s married to a lathe.”

  She raised her cup in a mock toast. “That’s right. I’m married to my shop. No in-laws. No drama. Just dust and grease.”

  They shared a warm silence, the kind of quiet only possible between two people who’d built something together. Eventually, plates empty and the workshop calling, Lee stood and stretched.

  Swift rolled his shoulders and stood too. “Thanks for the meal.”

  “Thanks for asking,” she replied.

  They returned to the workshop, the helmet glinting in the light.

  Swift stepped up to the bench, lifted the gloves, and set them down beside the blade.

  Time to try again.