“Checklist?" Quinn asked, appearing with two clipboards like a magician who trusted paper more than rabbits.
“Doors oiled, benches grounded, fire extinguishers dated," Hazel said, tightening a collet with her favorite wrench. “Maya hid the ugly trash can."
“It's behind the handsome one," Maya called from the kitchenette. “Camouflage."
Quinn spun a clipboard. “Donors in fifteen. Inspector allegedly at one. Apprentices at noon."
“Stop saying allegedly," Maya said. “It makes him sound like a rumor."
“He is," Quinn said. “Every city hires at least one."
The freight elevator groaned. A man in a navy blazer poked his head out like a groundhog with opinions. “We're early," he announced. “Traffic was civilized."
“Congratulations," Quinn said. “Right this way."
The donor cluster—cufflinks,
