A system designed by someone who had never been allowed to assume anything would work perfectly.
Wendell looked at Jaylen.
“Who helped you with this?”
“Nobody.”
“Where did you learn distributed control?”
Jaylen frowned.
“I don’t know what that means.”
Wendell laughed once, softly, not at the boy but at the absurdity of the world.
“It means you reinvented something my engineers have been overcomplicating for a year.”
Jaylen’s face went still.
“Is that good?”
“It might be very good.”
A floorboard creaked behind them.
Wendell turned.
Mrs. Tate stood in the doorway of the shed, one hand pressed to the frame. She looked pale, angry, and frightened all at once.
“Jaylen,” she said. “Go inside.”
The boy looked between them.
“But Mama—”
“Now.”
This time, he did not move.
“Mama, he understands it.”
“That’s what scares me.”
Wendell stepped back from the table.
“Mrs. Tate, I can help.”
