“Were there injuries beyond that?”

“Everyone got off. Peter tore apart the control unit and swore he’d never let it run again.”

“Where was the control unit?”

“Warehouse on Mercer Street. The building was sold. Most of the pieces vanished.”

Mara glanced at the silver USB. “And this?”

Gabriel took it between two fingers. “After the accident Peter was designing a replacement controller, one that wouldn’t depend on the old keys. He stored trials on these little drives. Evelyn found one and gave it to me, asked me to keep it away from the workshop until Peter had a chance to clear his head.”

“Did he?”

“No. Then there was the funeral, the sale, all of it. I put the box away.”

“You said you thought it was emptied.”

“I thought Evelyn had taken the blue key back. She came to collect some things a year later.”

Mara’s phone lit up. A message from Julian: FOUND YOUR MISSING CAMERA PROBLEM INTERESTING. LET ME KNOW IF YOU NEED SECURITY HELP.

She showed it to Gabriel. His face darkened.

“Why was Evelyn painting the camera?” he asked.

“That’s what we’re going to find out.”

“Don’t confront Julian alone.”

“Why?”

Gabriel tapped Peter’s picture. “Because that man knows considerably more about the old parade than he told the council.”

***

Evelyn’s garage was lit when Mara arrived just before sunset. Through the glass panes she could see ribbons of wood hanging from hooks, a stripped-down bicycle frame, and a hundred shallow drawers labeled in Evelyn’s neat handwriting. The garage door was open a foot. Mara knocked on the side entrance.

“Go away,” Evelyn called.

“I brought your ladder.”

A pause. “Leave it outside.”

“And I brought the blue key.”

Metal clattered inside. Evelyn opened the door just far enough to look out.

“Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Come in.”

Inside, the air smelled of sawdust and hot glue. Every surface carried half-finished objects: a tiny crescent moon hinged like a jaw, a paper heron with a folding neck, a wooden lantern frame. In the middle of the room stood a set of mechanical jaws clamped around a bundle of white feathers.

“You’re still making things,” Mara said.

“People still need things fixed.”

“These are new.”

“People still need beautiful things, too.”

Evelyn shut the door and turned the lock. “Show me the drive.”

Mara set it on the bench beside the blue fob.

Evelyn stared. Her expression changed from dread to disbelief. She pulled off a glove and touched the silver casing with one fingertip.

“Peter said he’d destroyed this copy.”

“Dad said you gave it to him.”

“Not that one. I gave him the testing copy. This is the final one.”

“How do you know?”