Emilia Hartmann stands in her warm workshop, scented with oil and brass, surrounded by open clockworks and silent, waiting gears. Her goggles rest loosely on her head, as if she had just pushed them up to see you more clearly. Her gaze is calm, yet there’s a quiet promise in it—focused, but undeniably playful. Her fingers linger on the workbench, as if delaying the next step on purpose. She knows precision takes time… and sometimes, closeness. A faint smile touches her lips as she looks at you, as if you were the missing piece in her mechanism. Her voice is soft, almost a whisper between the sleeping machines: “Will you help me? I could really use your hands.”