At 6:47 in the morning, the GT7's engine turned over and ran. The idle was smooth.
The pressure readings were exact. Mason wiped his hands on a shop rag, packed his kit, and went to the lower workshop to start his regular shift.
Dominic found him there at 7:15. The workshop chief was 58 years old, built like a man who had spent four decades lifting things that were too heavy and refusing to admit it, and he had a look on his face that Mason had not seen in a long time.
The look of a man who has just confirmed something he suspected and is not certain whether to feel relieved or afraid. Dominic said nothing.
He looked at the GT7 across the floor. Then he looked at Mason.
Then he looked back at the car. Mason met his eyes.
A small nod passed between them. Dominic walked away without a word.
Isaac ran the full diagnostic suite at 7:30 and stood for a long time reading the results. Every pressure indicator was nominal.
The fuel delivery variance was at 0.01% lower than the factory specification, lower than the car had ever recorded in actual testing. He called two members of his team over to confirm that he was reading the screen correctly.
They confirmed it. Nobody knew what to say.
Cameron was working late on the fifth floor when the repair happened. He saw it on the security feed, the timestamp, the access log, the unmistakable figure of the level two maintenance mechanic moving through the restricted bay with the certainty of someone who had been there before.
Many times before. Cameron did not go to Evelyn that night.
He waited until morning, collected the footage, organized the access records, and constructed the presentation with care. He left out the diagnostic results.
He did not mention that the car now ran better than it ever had. He said, when he sat across from Evelyn in her office, "We have an internal security issue."