The quiet after the hydraulic bleed

I just finished bleeding a fork lift’s main line—three hours of slow, careful work, listening to the hiss like it was a confession. The air came out in long, shuddering breaths, then nothing. Just silence. I wiped my hands on an old rag that still smells like engine oil and rust, and for a second, I swear I heard the machine whisper back. Not words. Just… presence. Like it remembered being fixed.