The morning sun beat down on the old mansion, the smell of fresh concrete and steel lingering in the air.
I adjusted my hard hat and stepped closer to the half-finished stairwell.
> "You're checking the beams again?" Lucas's voice came from behind, calm, deliberate.
I didn't turn. "Someone has to make sure your steel doesn't crush my design."
He came closer, boots clanking on the wooden scaffolding. His shadow fell over my blueprints.
> "You trust your lines more than the steel that holds the building up?"
I finally looked up. His eyes, dark and unreadable, met mine.
> "I trust what I can see. You… seem to trust only what you can measure."
A pause. A small, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips.
> "Then let's see which one breaks first—the lines or the steel."
The tension was palpable. Not a single worker dared to speak; even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Yet, under that challenge, something stirred—not fear, but a spark.
I clenched my fists, determined not to let him win.
> "Try not to distract me with your smirks, Mr. Calvello."
He tilted his head, studying me, as if calculating the exact moment my composure would crack.
And in that instant, I realized… this wasn't just about architecture.
It was a game.
And he wasn't just building steel and concrete.
He was testing me.