From the asthenic calm that bore the morning, the mechanic’s struggles were made clear to me. The coil, he asked for the coil. The hammer. The brass plates and the loops of silver. On and on, every raised fist a penultimate to victory. With nightfall, he lay against the wall that bordered mine, this cell by cells, and tapped out the progress of his Machine in indefinable code. Escape, he had said. And I readied my metal wings.