He slid the box into the inner fold of his wrap and kept going, slower now.

The next drawer with the hook symbol held compact pry bars, museum tagged and nested like silver bones. Another held wire spools, most rusted through, but one gave him several good lengths after he unwound the outer rot. In a low cabinet marked FIELD STUDY he found cutting scraps: thin sheets of hard polymer, a roll of old binding tape, and a service satchel gone stiff with age but still sound at the seams. Behind a display about public shelter design he managed to free two metal rods from a collapsed demo frame. One had a flattened end that would serve well enough as a lever. The other was narrow and springy, useful for testing seams or lifting catches. He had to stop afterward with both hands braced on his thighs, breath going shallow while a hot stitch worked under his ribs and the room flickered at the edges.

Each small success cost him. He had to crouch carefully or dizziness washed up at once. Pulling drawers sent pain through the bruised line under his ribs. Once he rose too quickly from beside a tipped cabinet and the depot swayed green around him, all the cases drifting left as if the room had become a ship. He caught himself on a display plinth and waited, eyes fixed on a faded little model of a desal plant while his stomach rolled empty.