Nyx
The cover came off in one piece.
Nyx had expected the damage to be easier to see.
Bent metal. A loose part. Something ugly enough that the person who had signed the earlier inspection would look foolish beside it.
The inside of the housing was clean.
Nyx checked the keeper's hands as he set down the tool. He left the screws in the positions marked on the cloth instead of gathering them into a convenient pile.
The inspector read the frame reference aloud. The assistant checked it against the tag, then wrote the time the cover was removed.
Everyone in the room knew a blade had moved when it should have remained at rest. That knowledge made it easy to stare at every surface as though the fault would identify itself out of embarrassment.
The clean metal gave Nyx no such satisfaction.
