The customer, a nervous woman named Mrs. Alvarez, peered into the van. “Is it fixed? The dealer said they’d need three weeks for a ‘network diagnosis.’”

It wasn't just a code reader. Elias ran his thumb over the rubberized casing. It was a key. It unlocked the gates that manufacturers put up to keep independent garages out. It allowed him to perform actuator tests, to bleed ABS modules, to reset steering angle sensors, and to program keys.

The rain in the salvage yard didn’t wash the grime away; it just made the rust bleed orange and the oil slicks shimmer like rainbows on a black sea.