Then another sound touched the edge of it. Not a footstep. A scrape, light and quick, from the dark near the outer stones.

Elias did not move at first. He let his eyes adjust. The shape there was low and thin, nearly part of the ground, then not. A body unfolding from shadow. Hairless or close to it. Bare limbs narrow as cables. It came with patient care, stopping when the light widened, moving when a cloud passed over the dome lamps.

His mouth went dry.

The figure crouched at the shelter opening. In the dim light Elias saw a face too lean for the people above, eyes wide and reflecting faintly, skin marked by grime or old stains. One hand lifted toward him, slow, as if to test whether he slept.

The fingers were inches from his face when Elias jerked upright.

Pain tore through his side. The movement was enough. The watcher snatched the hand back with a soft clicking sound in its throat and sprang away in one smooth motion. For a moment it was framed against the path glow—thin chest, bent knees, a strip of dark cloth at the waist—then it vanished between the stones and headed fast toward a service vent half hidden under trailing plants.

Elias shoved himself to the shelter entrance, too late to follow. He saw the vent grille shift, just once, and settle.

Behind him, Lina woke with a sharp breath. “What is it?”

He kept his eyes on the dark patch by the vent. The garden looked calm again. Empty. Listening.

“Not empty,” he said, and the words stayed in the night like a warning.