At the northern end of Bergenfield International Airport, a massive maintenance hangar hummed with the restless energy of mechanics and the low vibrations of machinery. An Aurelius A900 turbofan engine rested on a sturdy trolley under harsh fluorescent lights, reflecting the weary faces of the technicians who had been working through the night. Nearby, a red toolbox stood open, its drawers filled with wrenches, screwdrivers, and gauges. Every few seconds, the clock on the wall ticked loudly, amplifying the tension in the room. The smell of hot metal and kerosene filled the air, mingling with a faint scent of sweat.
Beside the engine stood Evan Parker, owner of the Aurelius FalconJet private jet, in his immaculate navy suit, but with a tense, impatient posture. His security team stood alert near the doors, scanning the hangar for any disturbances. The mechanics murmured in hushed tones, comparing notes and calculating how many more hours it would take to restore the engine. Outside, gusts of wind rattled the hangar doors, but inside, silence reigned until a single voice broke through.
“If you’ll allow me, I can repair that engine,” said a calm and clear voice.
Heads turned in unison. A young woman stood in the doorway, wearing a worn gray dress. Her hair was tangled and disheveled, as if the wind had chased it all the way to the hangar. Her slender fingers were stained with oil and grease. Despite her fragile appearance, her eyes were steady and unwavering, focused solely on the engine. A few mechanics exchanged incredulous glances.
Trevor Lane, the chief maintenance engineer, cautiously stepped forward. “Miss, you shouldn’t be here. We’ve been working on this engine for hours,” he said. His voice held a mixture of skepticism and curiosity.
Two guards moved toward her, intending to escort her out. Before they reached her, Evan raised his hand. “Stop. Let me speak,” he ordered. The room fell silent. The woman approached, her gaze fixed on the engine, not on the people around her.
“I heard your team mentioned a whistling sound during descent,” he said. “And inconsistent reel readings after shutdown. Both issues suggest overlapping failures. May I inspect the intake?”
Trevor froze. “Who told him that?”
“Nobody,” she replied in a low voice.
Evan watched her with quiet interest. There was something about her posture, a confidence that didn’t fit someone so young and fragile. “Give her gloves,” he said.
The technicians hesitated, but obeyed. They handed him a pair of clean gray gloves. His fingers trembled slightly as he put them on, then steadied. He approached the engine and began to examine it meticulously. He traced wiring harnesses, checked clamps, and listened as if the metal itself could whisper its secrets to him.
A young mechanic scoffed. “Do you even know what that part is for?”
She ignored him. “I need a flashlight and a small mirror,” she said.
They gave her the tools. She leaned over to a small panel near the compressor, angling the mirror to see the wiring inside. “The clamp is in the wrong slot. Air is leaking, and that’s causing the hissing. This sensor wire is frayed. When it heats up, it rubs against the bracket and sends false readings. These two problems are masking each other.”
Trevor’s mouth dropped open. “We inspected that cable three times. How did we miss the clamp?”
“Because one problem masks the other,” she explained. “Fixing only one doesn’t fix the whole engine.”
Evan approached. “Can you fix it?”
She looked up at him. “If you’ll allow me.”
“You have it,” he said.
The hangar changed instantly. The tension eased, replaced by anticipation. She moved with astonishing speed and care, adjusting the clamp until it clicked firmly into the correct slot. She trimmed the damaged cable, applied new insulation, and secured it away from the support. Step by step, she cleaned the area and confirmed that every connection was tight. Her movements were precise, her focus absolute, and the team watched her in awe.
Finally, he got in. “The engine is ready.”
Trevor hesitated before nodding. “We’ll try it right away.”
They pulled the engine car out of the engine room. Morning light spilled onto the track, casting long shadows from the cones placed around the test area. Technicians connected cables and fuel lines with trained hands. A buzz of anticipation filled the air. Trevor gave the signal. The ignition sequence began.
The motor roared to life, a deep vibration spreading through the track. The whistling was gone. The reel readings stabilized, and the screen went from erratic red to a serene green.
Trevor exhaled, incredulous. “This is perfect. I haven’t seen numbers this clean in weeks.”
Evan turned to the woman. “What’s your name?”
“Lina,” she said softly.
“Lina what?” he asked.
“Only Lina,” she replied.
Trevor approached. “Where did you learn to spot problems that even experienced engineers miss?”
“I listen,” she said simply. “Engines talk. Most people don’t hear them.”
The team exchanged uneasy glances. Evan noticed her thin arms and the slight hollowing in her cheeks. “Have you eaten today?” he asked gently.
She shook her head.
“Then come with me,” he said. “First we get food. Everything else can wait.”
Lina hesitated. “I didn’t do this for a reward,” she said.
“You did something valuable,” Evan replied. “Food isn’t a reward. It’s care. Accept it.”
Trevor added, “If you want a job, we can offer you one. Your skill is rare, and we need someone like you.”
Lina looked at the engine. “Machines make sense. People are more difficult,” she said softly.
“Then let’s be patient,” Evan said. “Start with one meal. Nothing more.”
She glanced at the engine one last time, then nodded. A guard prepared a cart. “We’ll take you around the track,” Evan said.
As the cart moved forward, Lina watched the engine gleam in the morning sun. It wasn’t struggling anymore. It was steady, alive. For the first time in years, she felt a spark of hope that maybe it could have a place in the world beyond the streets.
Evan noticed her expression. He remained silent, letting her reflect. The wind brushed across the runway, carrying the faint scent of jet fuel and fresh air. The drone of distant engines filled the background. Lina closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling a calm she had almost forgotten.
For the first time, she allowed herself a small smile.
