Arjun shook his head. “Look again. The mating shaft is titanium. It expands at a different rate. At body temperature, 0.04 under becomes 0.07 under. That’s a loose fit. A loose fit means air leaks. Air leaks mean a baby doesn’t breathe.”

He set the rod back on the lathe. “We take it to 29.99. That’s the heart of tolerance, Meena. Not the edge. The heart.”

“Tolerance,” he muttered, tracing a finger along the blueprint. The box in the corner read: ISO 2768-mk .

Tonight, Arjun was making a coupling sleeve for a pediatric ventilator. The client had said “medical grade, but low budget.” Arjun had smiled and pointed to the blueprint. “ISO 2768-mk is the lowest I go. Not a micron more.”

He’d learned.

He remembered the first time he’d seen those numbers, a decade ago. Fresh out of trade school, he’d thought tolerance meant forgiveness. A little wiggle room. A millimeter here, a half-degree there—what was the harm?

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