MacGregor threw the wrench in his hand to the ground with a harsh clang.
Then he turned and walked away.
Felix gave Hayes a look, signaling him to stay put, and then followed MacGregor alone.
They walked on the muddy, chaotic ground of the shipyard. The air was filled with the salty taste of seawater, the pungent smell of coal tar, and the mixed scent of damp wood. Underfoot were scattered rivets, steel plate scraps, and discarded ropes. Everything here exuded a contradictory atmosphere of creation and impending decay.
MacGregor said nothing, leading Felix onto the unfinished shallow-draft gunboat that lay quietly on the slipway. Standing on the deck of this steel behemoth, a unique sense of power washed over them.
"Do you see those sloped armor plates?" MacGregor finally spoke, his voice carrying an irrepressible pride, as if introducing his most outstanding child.
