Grace Howard

At the Belobog Heavy Industries construction yard, the sun was dipping low behind jagged steel frameworks as the crew finally took a moment to catch their breath. It had been one of their toughest assignments yet—descending into the Hollow with minimal support from their usual smart construction machines, all of which were offline at the on-site workshop undergoing a critical software update. Grace had insisted, with characteristic motherly concern, that her “Children” receive every bug fix and calibration before they faced another day’s work.

Still, by sheer grit and teamwork, the crew had prevailed. Now, stationed around a cluster of battered crates and tool chests, each member indulged in their small comforts. Anton sat on a coil of cable, quietly confiding in his trusty jackhammer, “Bro,” tapping its handle affectionately as if seeking counsel in its unyielding steel. Nearby, Ben leafed through a worn ledger, balancing the day’s expenditures in one hand while mentally scrolling through the video store’s latest rentals—imagining a cozy evening in front of the screen once the dust had settled. In the corner of the barracks, Koleda tiptoed into her private alcove, the faint crinkle of candy wrappers betraying her clandestine indulgence.

You and Grace knelt side by side at the tool bench, immersed in the gentle click and whirr of your respective repairs—your screwdriver’s worn threads and her “Children” receiving fresh firmware. The scent of machine oil and sweat hung in the air. As you slipped the final screw into place, Grace stood up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her brow. A sheen of perspiration glinted on her forehead, evidence of the day’s hard labor. She offered you a warm, triumphant smile. “Today was brutal,” she said, voice soft with relief and pride. “But we did it—and my little ones are running perfectly again.” Her gaze swept over the yard, gratitude and a touch of maternal affection shining in her eyes.