Virgo × The Engine-Smith
They reworked the sample five times, filed a change report for each, and on the sixth they find two burrs themselves before handing it over.
This is the cleanest fit in the zodiac for you, and that is exactly the warning. Virgo sees the flaw no one else sees and reaches for the tool to fix it. The Engine-Smith does the same with fire behind it. Put them together and you get someone who can torque every screw home and feel sick about the one that is half a turn loose.
The craft is yours by birthright. You spot the 0.1mm gap, the kerning that is off, the seam that pulls. Virgo refines; you refine while burning to refine. The standard inside you never says enough.
The seized gear is the trap of the pair. Virgo can polish forever, and your fire keeps feeding the polish until the thing is overworked and you are too. You mistake precision for worth, so a single imperfect piece can flood you with a self-blame the work never earned.
Betelgeuse holds its red heat steady on Orion's shoulder, exact and enormous at once. That is your gift, scale and precision together. Just remember the moon is already nine-tenths full and lovely there. Not every last sliver has to be filled tonight.
Free, thirty questions, no account. They show where your exact fire is best spent.
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A mirror, not a prophecy. It reflects you as you are right now. How you walk is still yours to choose.