---
Hinges, freshly greased, remembered how not to gossip. The forge smelled faintly of soap and oil and the small clean pride of a room put back into good order.
By the door, the new flag lay rolled and lashed like a promise with a handle. In the office drawer, swaddled in cloth like a precious tool or a sleeping mouse, the small die with the whisker-spark face waited for the next crate, the next sheath, the next proof that Fizz Holdings now existed in metal as well as in talk.
Gael had the men set on work that could live many days without their founder. Orna led hinges and hooks. Ludo hunted soot as if it owed back rent. Kel and Doff tamed nails into bundles, trading dry jokes that never spilled. Mara's loaf sat on the corner of the worktable beside a short note that managed to be both fond and practical: be clever first; if that fails, be quick. It was the sort of sentence a town writes you once it has decided you should keep existing.
