The next day, Vuvi, Glorin, and Thari huddle over a workbench buried in scorch marks and old solder, goggles firmly in place, dissecting and debating Pip's neural circuitry, trying once and for all to pin down exactly how the divine crystal interfaces with it to let him think and feel like a living, breathing person. Somewhere behind them, an unattended kettle whistles itself hoarse over a low workshop hearth, entirely ignored by all three.
"You're remarkable," Thari says, watching Glorin dig carefully through the open panel of Pip's chest cavity, poking at the dense webbing of wire and crystal-lattice inside. "Building something like this out of your own mother's basement."
