The workshop smelled of oil, iron, and slightly burnt coffee. Amara rolled up her sleeves and stood over the hood of an old pickup truck, looking skeptically at a bolt that seemed determined never to yield to human effort. She cursed, applied a little more force, and finally, the bolt came loose with a clang.

"Yeah, now you're mine," she muttered, satisfied with her victory.

At that moment, Miguel Ardanes entered the workshop. As always, he was neat and tidy, wearing a clean white shirt without a single stain, as if he had come not to a car repair shop but to an office meeting. He closed the door behind him with a light snap and, leaning against the doorframe, watched with a smile as Amara struggled with the metal.

"You know, Amara, sometimes I feel like you talk to cars more than you talk to me," he said slyly.

Amara wiped her hands on a rag, glanced at him briefly, and muttered,

"At least they listen. Unlike some bosses."

Miguel smiled and took a step inside. "Well, that's exactly what I came to talk about. I have news for you."

"If they raised the price of spare parts again, I wouldn't be surprised," she said dryly, diving back under the hood.

"No, worse," he said conspiratorially.

Amara raised an eyebrow and slowly straightened up. "Worse? How could it be worse?"

Miguel spread his arms dramatically: "You're going to have a student."

The rag in Amara's hands froze. She stared at him as if he had just said that an alien invasion was about to land in their parking lot tomorrow.

"What?"

"A student. Young, enthusiastic, eager for knowledge. I thought, who better to mentor her than you?"

"Miguel..." Her voice became dangerously quiet. "I already have more work than I can handle. I'm not a babysitter. I'm not a teacher. And I'm certainly not going to wipe the snot off some girl who decided she wanted to 'play mechanic.'"

He raised his hands as if in surrender. "Hey, hey, calm down. No one's talking about snot. Just show her the basics, make sure she doesn't blow up the garage, and that's it."

Amara snorted. "Yeah. And when she breaks a customer's car, who's going to be responsible? Me? You?"

"Well, considering that you usually fix everything, most likely you," he couldn't resist joking.

She threw a rag at him. Fortunately, the rag was dry. "Very funny."

Miguel deftly caught it and carefully placed it on the workbench, as if it were not a piece of old cloth but an expensive handkerchief.

"Listen, Amara. I've known you for a long time. You're the most stubborn woman I've ever met. But you have a talent not only for fixing iron, but also for teaching. You don't even notice how we all look up to you. Now imagine: you'll put a part of yourself into someone else. It's... a legacy."

Amara rolled her eyes. "Did you just call me old?"

"No, no! Experienced!" he quickly corrected himself, raising his finger to the sky as if he had found the right word. "Experienced, wise, incredibly talented."

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him suspiciously. "And what will you give me for that?"

"Give you?" Miguel pretended to think. "Well... you can start with me not leaving coffee cups on your workbench."

"That's not a price, it's a mockery."

"Okay, okay. I'll raise your pay for complex orders. And yes, I'll order that new compressor you mentioned."

Amara narrowed her eyes. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely."

There was a pause. She turned toward the pickup truck, then back to him. Her face was still stony, but a faint shadow of a smile flashed at the corners of her lips.

"Fine. But if that girl breaks even one tool, I'll chain her to the wheel and make her spin all day with the balancer. Got it?"

Miguel laughed and clapped his hands. "It's a deal! Welcome to the new era of mentoring, maestro."

Amara just shook her head and dove back under the hood, but muttered under her breath: "Maestro... damn you..."

**

There was a loud noise in the workshop—the compressor was pumping pressure, and somewhere behind the wall, welding sparks flew. Amara, as always, was at the center of this chaos: her hair pulled back into a careless ponytail, her hands stained black, her face an expression of complete concentration. She was working on the engine of an old SUV, her movements precise and confident, like those of a surgeon.

The door creaked. The sound of cautious footsteps rolled across the floor. Amara didn't immediately look up, but she sensed that the attention in the workshop had shifted. Everyone knew who had arrived — the newcomer, the very "apprentice" Miguel had told her about yesterday.

She slowly straightened up, threw the screwdriver on the workbench, and turned around. She looked silently for a few seconds, assessingly, with narrowed eyes. The atmosphere seemed to thicken as she wiped her hands on a rag and headed toward the newcomer.

"So you're the apprentice," she said dryly. No greeting, no smile.

She stopped in front of her, shook her head, and snorted. "Listen here. I have a lot of work to do. A lot. And the last thing I want to do is babysit you."

Amara nodded toward the car she had just been working on. "If you want to stay, stand nearby, watch, and remember. But don't get in the way. No questions, no advice, no unnecessary words."

She picked up the screwdriver again, leaned toward the engine, but paused and, without turning around, added: "And one more thing... if you get in my way even once, you know where the door is."

After that, she immersed herself completely in the engine, as if her student didn't exist at all. But from the movement of her shoulder and the slight tilt of her head, it was clear that Amara was still listening, watching to see if the girl would stay put.