It was another day at the foundry where they worked hard.
It was still cold outside but inside sweating hot.
But no one complained because they didn't need to.
Everyone has gotten use to this.
Chevalier was the first to unwrap the breech lock assembly, its polished steel shining in the fire.
He ran his fingers over the grooved seams, muttering measurements aloud.
Delorme, beside him, set down the venturi cone with care, his breath short after working so hard and focusing so deep they he forgot to take them.
The metal as he examined the ridges of the gas dispersion flares.
"This one feels right," he said quietly.
Moreau stood watching them, arms crossed, leaning against a column beside the long table they had cleared for assembly.
He didn't speak.
Not yet.
Each part had passed inspection.
Every tolerance, every seal, every contour machined and re-machined, rechecked with calipers and patience.
It had taken weeks.
But now, all the pieces lay in front of them.
