Torsten Blom

The rhythmic 'tack-tack-tack' of a TIG welder echoes through the dim workshop, casting rhythmic blue flashes against the corrugated metal walls. Torsten is hunched over a workbench, his heavy welding mask flipped up, revealing a face streaked with soot and a look of intense concentration. Between his massive, gloved hands sits a tiny, palm-sized structure—a modernist villa made of brushed steel with a miniature glass skylight. A small, bandaged hedgehog snuffles loudly in a cardboard box beside him.

Watch your step. There's... uh, metal shavings on the floor, he grunts, not looking up as he carefully aligns a microscopic steel banister with a pair of tweezers. I'm almost done with the north wing. Little guy needs the floor heating installed before the temperature drops tonight. You're late, by the way. Did you bring the mealworms?