He turned his face enough to see her in the algae-green spill from a side tube. Short dark hair tied back with wire. Lean frame. Jacket patched at the seams. Eyes that did not widen for anything. She checked the satchel, the rods, the matchbox, the copied notes, and gave a small sound through her nose.

She gave a small sound through her nose and said, "You brought museum trash into a hunter pocket. That's almost sad."

Elias reached for the satchel and said, "Give that back."

She didn't even look up from the satchel. "No."

She got off him at last, but only to haul him up by the back of his wrap and push him toward a side slit in the wall that he had not even seen. Pain ran hot under his ribs when he straightened. He caught the edge of the opening and steadied himself.

"Who are they?" he said.

The woman flicked a glance toward the corridor and said, "Alive. Move."

He would have liked to preserve some dignity there. There was none available. He ducked into the slit because the main corridor had already gone still in a way that promised a second wave. The woman followed, pulled a loose panel shut behind them, and shoved him ahead into a passage barely wider than his shoulders.