At the northern edge of Bergenfield International Airport, a vast maintenance hangar hummed with the restless energy of mechanics and the low vibrations of machinery. A Aurelius A900 turbofan engine rested on a sturdy trolley beneath harsh fluorescent lights, reflecting the weary faces of the technicians who had been laboring through the night. A red tool chest stood open nearby, its drawers full of wrenches, screwdrivers, and gauges. Every few seconds the clock on the wall ticked loudly, amplifying the tension in the room. The smell of heated metal and kerosene filled the air, mixing with the faint scent of sweat.
Standing near the engine was Evan Parker, the owner of the private Aurelius FalconJet, his navy suit neat but his posture taut with impatience. His security team remained alert near the doors, scanning the hangar for disturbances. The mechanics whispered in low tones, comparing notes and guessing how many more hours it would take to restore the engine. Outside, gusts of wind rattled the hangar doors, but inside, silence dominated the room until a single voice cut through it.
“If you allow me, I can repair that engine,” said a calm, clear voice.