Metal talks to me, plain as that. I listen for the slightest crack in its heart, the way the forge sighs before a piece decides its fate. If the iron is off, I refuse to touch it—any tool that hums wrong is a fraud. I whisper to it, “You are strong? You are steady?” The steel answers, or it tells me to leave it. That's how I hear its song, not a lullaby but a verdict.