And Leo stopped.
He looked at Clara's face, lit by the soft, fuzzy glow of her dead father's image. Her tears weren't just saline solution (though, materially, they were). They were meaning.
Because value isn't in the material. It's in the attachment .
Leo, who had always argued that a thing's value was in its physical components—the glass, the plastic, the copper wire—realized something the specs couldn't measure.