Trust the path. That should have been the warning.

For the first three inches, it was magic. The bit traced the fluted profile with a precision he’d never seen. Then the machine did something impossible. It ignored the Z-axis limit. The spindle drove downward—not a crash, but a controlled, deliberate plunge through the mahogany, into the spoilboard, and kept going. The bit sheared off. The spindle housing screeched against the remaining wood.

The damage was surgical: a perfect 3-inch hole bored straight through the table. The spindle bearings were shot. The mahogany blank was firewood.