She pushed through. The interior smelled faintly of dust and oil. Light fell in through high windows, sketching the room in long, patient bars. Old furniture sat like relics: a chipped workbench, a swivel chair whose leather had been smoothed by decades. In the back, beneath a skylight, was a mound of equipment covered with tarps. A woman with a paint-splattered apron looked up and offered Mara a smile.