The concrete pump's growl cut through the early morning fog, vibrating through the soles of Mikhail's boots. Vapor curled from his breath as he stood over the excavation trench, eyes scanning the chalk lines, the steel rebar grid, the bundled cables, and the polished anchor bolts, all exactly where they needed to be. He checked the angle of the trench wall again with a handheld digital inclinometer, watched the reading level out at a perfect slope, then looked skyward.
Gray. Heavy. Rain threatened.
Kat dragged a screed board through the muck toward him, her cheeks flushed from the cold. "Truck one is backing in. Lars said they came early, scared of the weather." She paused, her voice tightening as she added, "We might only have two hours before this whole place turns into a swamp."
Mikhail nodded, already moving. "Let's pour the east segment first. Keep the mixer spinning, no dry spots."
The driver hopped out of the cab, already wearing gloves. "Where's the foreman?"
"You're looking at him," Mikhail answered, pointing at the chute. "Let's go."
Concrete began sliding down the shoot like lava, gray, thick, alive with aggregate. Mikhail crouched at the edge of the trench, gloved fingers brushing across the edge of the rebar grid. A half-inch misalignment in one of the anchor bolts made him pause. He flagged Kat. "Get me a wrench."
She rushed to his side, tools jangling on her belt. Mikhail rotated the bolt until it sat perfectly along the tension line, then checked the measurement again. The difference was less than three millimeters. "Okay," he said. "Pour."
The team worked fast. Lars had set up halogen floodlights the night before, and they glared over the gravel, turning the ground into a gray-blue moonscape. A second truck pulled up behind the first. Erik's name was stenciled across its tank. So far, the financing and logistics held.
Kat shouted from the far end, "You want a slump test?"
Mikhail was already grabbing the cone from the bucket. He packed the concrete, lifted, and watched the mixture settle to a seven-inch drop. Within tolerance. "Perfect. Keep going."
But above them, the clouds darkened.
"Mikhail," Lars called from the edge, his voice tight. "Rain in twenty. Radar says it's building over the ridge."
"Tarps?"
"Already staged."
"Deploy on my signal. Let's finish this quadrant."
Mikhail moved like muscle memory. He directed the chute's arc, smoothed the surface with a bull float and made quick corrections to the vibrators to eliminate air pockets. He caught a rookie laborer trying to cut corners, skipping a section of the float. "No," Mikhail barked, loud and direct. "Start over. Right away or not at all."
The laborer flinched, then obeyed.
Kat handed him a steel trowel. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Micromanaging because you know it better than the engineers."
Mikhail didn't answer right away. He stared into the trench, where perfect gridlines and clean geometry reflected back in the wet sheen of fresh concrete. "No one else is going to build this right," he said. "Not unless we teach them how."
Kat didn't argue. She just started troweling beside him, shoulder to shoulder.
A drop of rain struck Mikhail's cheek.
"Lars," he called. "Now!"
Tarps unfurled like sails in a storm. Laborers jumped to secure them as fat drops pelted the ground. Mikhail stepped back and watched water bead and roll off the plastic sheeting. The pour held.
"Half done," Lars said, breathing hard as he tightened the last tie-down.
Mikhail nodded. "We're not stopping."
Then his phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. Once. Twice. Then a third time, insistent.
Kat looked over. "More problems?"
Mikhail wiped concrete off his gloves and reached into his coat. "Only one way to find out."
Mikhail swiped the mud-slick phone screen with his wrist. A message blinked on the display—"Inspector bumped to 2 p.m. due to weather. Foundation re-check mandatory." Underneath, a timestamp. Fifteen minutes ago.
He exhaled through his nose. "We're getting re-inspected today. Two p.m."
Lars cursed softly behind him. "That's in four hours. Are we on pace?"
Mikhail glanced toward the trench. Concrete trucks were already gone, the tarps straining against the wind, and the surface beneath still curing. "If the rain holds off, we'll finish in time. But the inspector will want a walk-through. They'll bring the checklist." He tapped the message. "We can't give them a single reason to delay."
Kat motioned toward the far end of the site. "Let's start forming the north wall. Rain's easing."
The three moved quickly. Lars rolled out the form panels while Kat checked the ties and fasteners. Mikhail stepped into the curing trench, his boots suctioning against the damp concrete. He ran his hand along the wet edge, checking the joint spacing and expansion gaps. Every half-inch mattered now.
"Where do you want the anchors?" Kat called from the rebar pile.
"Spacing at sixteen inches," he replied. "Staggered offset. We're prepping for shear loads once the wall joins the vertical."
"Architect brain," Lars muttered with a grin. "You talk like concrete has emotions."
Mikhail gave a tight smile as he stood up. "It does. Get lazy, it cracks in all the wrong places."
Kat nodded. "So, treat it like a vindictive ex. Understood."
The first wall form went up with practiced rhythm. They braced it tight, locked in rebar cages, and secured diagonal supports against wind shear. Mikhail double-checked every segment with the level. He could see it in his head already, the structural load transfer from the horizontal slab to this wall, the tie-in for the shear panels, and the thermal joints that would expand with seasonal heat.
By noon, the forms were done.
Lars came over, wiping his hands with a rag. "You know," he said, "when you explained your plans the first time, I thought you were just over-engineering. But this, " He tapped the edge of the formwork. "this is the cleanest foundation prep I've ever seen. Like watching someone pour a cathedral."
Mikhail looked at him. "High praise coming from a man who called me insane in three different languages."
"I stand by all of them," Lars said, smirking. "But you're good. Really good."
There was no sarcasm. Just respect. And maybe, beneath that, something heavier.
Mikhail exhaled, his breath curling in the chilly air. "Thanks."
They didn't say anything more. The wall pour began at 12:30. The second concrete truck arrived, just on time. Mikhail took position at the chute, guiding the slurry into the forms, careful not to overfill. Kat smoothed the top with a magnesium float, Lars held the braces in place as the pressure increased.
The formwork held firm.
At exactly 1:58 p.m., a white city vehicle rolled up to the lot.
A man in a neon jacket stepped out with a clipboard. "You Mikhail DuPont?"
Mikhail peeled off his gloves and nodded. "That's right."
The inspector didn't smile. "Walk me through it.