“Robes of the Old Makers,” Kori said. “But why—”

“You fixed her,” he breathed, reverent. “How’d you—”

When the dust cleared, Solace still breathed, but not the same. The engine’s vigor was high, unnatural. It sang at a pitch unfamiliar to our ears, and my stomach turned as I realized what I’d done. The V8 had tasted animo, had been drawn to it like a moth to flame. It had drunk a little of the forbidden wine, and engines, like people, do not always forgive the first sip.

“Yes,” I said.