Iris drove. The hauler flew across the ice like a dark ship, exhaust turning to harmless water vapor in the cold. Two hours later, she coasted into the depot as the last lamp flickered out.

The last light of the Arctic sun bled copper across the frozen lake. Engineer Iris Koval tapped the diagnostic screen of the massive Scania hauler. Its eight cylinders sat silent, steam rising from the grille like breath from a sleeping giant.

She gripped the wheel. Pressed the brake three times, turned the ignition to ACC, cycled the high beams.

The engine note changed—cleaner, angrier, free .

“Don’t tell anyone,” he muttered.

Most drivers saw only a parts code. Iris saw history.