Sparr handed over the tablet. "Three percent. It’ll stretch the routes and keep the service interval the same."

Sparr kept his hands steady even as the fluorescent shop light hummed and the rain ticked the corrugated roof. Around him the garage smelled of oil, hot plastic, and a dozen half-finished promises. His toolbox lay open like a confession; wires curled out of it as if reluctant to reveal the truths they carried.

Sparr shrugged. "Done it clean. Could have cut corners. Didn't."

Back at the garage the courier's manager arrived with both hands in his pockets and a ledger in his eyes. "Did you get it?" he asked.

Evan sat across the table and read Sparr's notes, nodding slowly. "You ever thought about teaching that? Not the hacks, I mean the honest stuff. People need to know there's a line."