The wind howled across the construction site like it had something personal against everyone standing there. Snow whipped sideways, stinging faces and seeping into gloves that were never designed for this kind of cold. The morning briefing had already run long, and patience was thin. Most of the crew stamped their boots against the frozen ground, eager to get moving and warm up through work.

Her name was Mara Vuković, and she was new. Not just new to the site, but new to the region, the crew, and the unspoken hierarchy that ruled places like this. She wore the same heavy jacket as everyone else, the same safety helmet, the same steel-toed boots—but she didn’t carry herself like the others. She was quieter. Watchful. Focused.

“Jesus,” one of the men muttered loudly, eyeing her gloves. “Look at that. Already freezing.”

Another laughed. “You sure you’re cut out for this, sweetheart? It’s not an office job.”

A few chuckles rippled through the group.

Mara flexed her fingers slowly, trying to bring feeling back into them. The cold had bitten hard that morning, worse than usual, sinking deep into her joints. Her gloves were thick, but the ache persisted, sharp and unrelenting

The foreman, a broad man named Keller, glanced at her hands and frowned. “You’re slowing us down already,” he said. “If you can’t handle the cold, maybe you should sit this one out.”

Mara met his gaze. “I can handle it,” she repeated. Her voice was steady, controlled. There was no plea in it. No embarrassment.

Keller shrugged. “Your call. But don’t expect special treatment.”

The crew broke formation and moved toward their stations. As they passed her, a man brushed by and smirked. “Frozen hands won’t hold a wrench very long,” he said.

Years ago, in a very different place, she had heard the same laughter—men mocking her hands as they shook, her fingers stiff and unresponsive. Back then, it wasn’t cold that caused it. It was nerve damage. Trauma. Survival.

The work began as usual. Metal groaned. Machines roared. The site came alive with noise and movement. Mara worked carefully, methodically, her breath visible in short bursts as she tightened bolts and checked fittings. Her hands hurt, yes—but pain was something she understood deeply.

Some of the men who had laughed earlier were now complaining openly, blowing into their gloves, cursing the wind. One of them flexed his fingers and winced. “Can’t feel my damn hands,” he muttered.

Mara kept working.

Keller noticed. He watched her from a distance, surprised despite himself. She wasn’t fast, but she was precise. Every movement had intention. No wasted effort. No mistakes.

Chaos erupted instantly. Workers scrambled back, yelling over one another. A valve near the central rig had failed, releasing a hiss that grew louder by the second. One wrong spark, one delayed reaction, and the entire section could go up in flames.

Keller grabbed his radio. “Shut it down! Shut it down now!”

She dropped her tools and ran—not away, but toward the valve. Someone shouted at her to stop, but she didn’t slow down. She knelt, brushed ice from the mechanism, and placed her hands on the wheel.

Her gloves came off.

Bare skin met frozen steel.

The pain was immediate and brutal, biting so hard it felt like fire. Her fingers screamed in protest, nerves flaring violently. She clenched her jaw, ignoring the sound of her own breath hitching.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Keller ran forward. “Are you—are you okay?”

Mara stood slowly, her hands trembling violently now, red and raw, skin torn in places. She flexed her fingers with visible effort.

“I will be,” she said.

The men who had laughed earlier stared at her in stunned silence. One of them swallowed hard. “You… you didn’t even hesitate.”

Mara looked at him. “Hesitation costs lives,” she replied.

Medical staff were called. As they wrapped her hands, Keller stood nearby, his expression unreadable.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly.

Mara met his eyes. “Yes, I did.”

Later, in the warming trailer, someone finally asked the question that had been hanging in the air.

“How did you manage that?” a man asked. “Anyone else would’ve passed out from the pain.”

Mara looked down at her bandaged hands.

“I lost feeling in them once before,” she said. “A long time ago. Cold. Wires. Not something I like to talk about.”