Marcus nodded. He liked hands-on work. It let his mind go quiet; the hum of motors and the soft whine of capacitors was a language that made sense. When he opened the courier’s casing, he found something jammed inside the servo arm: a tiny crystalline shard, no bigger than a fingernail, etched with symbols like the bracelet’s glyph.
Marcus felt the shard warm against his thigh as if affirming her words. He thought of the child in the video, of the woman whose face had worn hope and fear the same way you wore a coat. He pictured the bracelet and the shard as two halves of a single broken promise. Young Marcus Expanded -Ongoing- - Version- 0.10
“I think so,” Marcus replied.