Kat's voice rang out sharp and clear, slicing through the still night air. Mikhail rose from the drafting table in one swift motion, pencil clattering to the floor. He crossed the trailer in three strides, boots thudding on the steel floor, and pushed the door open.
Floodlights cast long shadows across the gravel, exaggerating the angular skeletons of steel and scaffold. Kat stood just beyond the perimeter, arms crossed, gaze fixed up the slope. Mikhail followed her line of sight. The outer gate stood closed, but beyond it, up on the road shoulder, a black sedan idled, sleek, clean, and completely out of place. The headlights were off, but the engine was running. Behind the tinted glass, someone was watching.
Lars jogged up from the far side of the lot, breathless. "I saw it pull in from the upper ridge. It hasn't moved since."
Mikhail stepped forward, drawing within a dozen feet of the fence. The car window hummed down.
Inside sat a man in a tailored black coat, clean-shaven, maybe mid-forties, with a leather-bound notebook on his lap and a camera on the passenger seat. He had the kind of composure that didn't belong near rebar and concrete dust, too calm, too precise.
"Early for visitors," Mikhail said, keeping his voice neutral.
The man smiled, not warmly. "Just documenting progress. Impressive work so far."
Mikhail didn't return the smile. "For who?"
"Let's say… interested parties." His voice was smooth but dry, like a blade sheathed in velvet.
Lars shifted beside him. "That plate," he murmured, "it's the government. District logistics pool, I think."
Mikhail's eyes narrowed. He recognized the posture, the indirect answers, the scent of leverage being tested. This wasn't a contractor. This was someone from higher up, sent to rattle cages without officially shaking them.
"We've filed every permit. Logs are clean. Safety's documented. Unless you're here for a formal inspection, I suggest you come back during daylight hours," Mikhail said.
"Oh, no complaint from me," the man replied. "I admire the initiative. Not many start-ups take on municipal-scale builds in a place like this." His gaze slid over the floodlit foundation. "Especially ones with your history."
Kat bristled. "You know something, say it."
"I just observe," he said. "And when the time's right, I report."
He rolled the window back up and gave a nod, disarmingly polite, like they'd just concluded a pleasant business exchange. The car reversed in one smooth motion, then crawled up the gravel incline. A soft crunching of tires and stone followed it into the dark.
They watched in silence until it vanished over the rise.
Lars exhaled hard. "They're probing us."
"Not just us," Mikhail said. "Our footing. Our unity. He wanted to see if we'd crack."
Kat muttered, "You think he'll be back?"
Mikhail turned toward the site. "No. He won't need to. Not until we make a mistake."
He walked slowly toward the slab, the floodlights humming overhead. Gravel shifted beneath his steps like unsettled thoughts. The concrete ahead lay still and solid, proof of their labor, now under scrutiny.
Behind him, Lars asked, "Then what do we do?"
Mikhail didn't stop walking. "We make sure we don't give them a single damn reason to doubt us."
The wind kicked up faint dust from the quarry path, swirling across the open space.
Kat broke the silence. "Let's sit down for a second. It's nearly dawn."
Mikhail glanced up. The sky was lightening over the distant ridge. He nodded once. "Five minutes."
He dropped to an overturned crate beside the slab, and Kat joined him. Lars stayed standing, scanning the empty road above.
Dawn was breaking, but the storm was gathering behind it.
They didn't talk much after that. The site had gone quiet, not with fear, but with fatigue, the kind only earned by doing something hard the right way. Mikhail took a slow sip of lukewarm coffee from a chipped thermos as the horizon cracked open into pale gold. Steam drifted upward and vanished before it could warm his face.
Beside him, Kat rubbed her hands together for warmth. Her jacket was dusted with concrete powder, her hair tied back with a pencil she must have forgotten was there. She looked tired, but in that specific way that comes after a fight survived.
"We did it," she said, voice hushed, almost reverent.
Mikhail nodded. His eyes stayed on the slab. Even under morning light, it looked solid, anchored. The lines were clean, the rebar flush. Every test had come back right. They'd poured early, weathered the inspection delays, even outlasted Volgren's lurking presence. And now it is done. The foundation was real.
"Almost," he said.
"Almost is better than never," Kat said, glancing at him.
Lars sat a few feet away on a stack of timber, flipping through the site ledger with mechanical fingers. "If we get two days without rain, the curing will set perfectly. We can start phase two by the weekend."
"Let's not jinx it," Mikhail muttered, but his tone was soft.
They sat like that for a while, three shapes in high-vis jackets watching their first real milestone settle under the sky. Trucks were still parked, engines off. The concrete mixer sat idle, a thin sheen of dew catching on its drum. It was the quietest the site had been in weeks.
Above the quarry, the road remained empty. The sedan was gone. But its absence pressed on Mikhail's thoughts like a weight he couldn't shake. Whoever that man was, he hadn't come to see the slab. He'd come to see if Mikhail was the same man who once failed, if the man who'd been buried by scandal would break under the next load.
And he hadn't. Not yet.
"You think we'll keep them off our backs?" Kat asked, watching the light spread across the far hill.
"No," Mikhail said. "But I think we've bought time. Trust. Enough of both to move forward."
Lars snapped the ledger shut. "The townspeople, too. They're watching now. But not the same way."
Mikhail looked over. "You noticed?"
"Every day this week, more of them lingered. First just watching from the fence, then asking questions. Yesterday, someone brought us pastries."
Kat grinned. "And you didn't share?"
Lars shrugged. "It was reconnaissance."
Mikhail allowed a quiet laugh to escape his chest. He hadn't realized how much he needed that sound. Small, ordinary things, jokes, coffee, cold air suddenly felt sacred.
He stood and dusted off his jeans. "We'll hold a second open house. Once the steel goes up. Transparency buys more than permits."
Kat rose with him. "This time, we'll make sure everyone hears about it."
"We'll need tables," Lars said. "And chairs. And better coffee."
"Noted," Mikhail said.
The sun finally crested the ridge, casting the first sharp beam of morning across the slab. It gleamed slightly—still damp, but no longer vulnerable. Set.
Mikhail looked toward the access path. The survey crew would be arriving soon. They'd need to mark grid points for the next verticals.
As if in answer, the first distant rumble of a truck engine broke the stillness. Tires crunched gravel. Another day was starting.
"Alright," Mikhail said. "Break's over."
He turned toward the trailer to grab his notes, just as the walkie on his hip crackled.
A voice came through, panicked and breathless.
"DuPont? It's Nelson. We've got a problem, there's been a fire at the north end. I think it was deliberate."