"I can force a more direct access point near the tower support seam," he said, turning to Mara. "With heat, leverage, and time. If the service skin matches what I saw above, we could bypass patrol patterns entirely."

Mara's stare was flat enough to cool steel. "With what heat? One museum matchbox and a prayer? While bleeding noise into every sensor throat in the level? Clean routes are for the dead. They don't have to worry who hears them coming."

Elias said, "A mapped trap is still a trap."

"Yes." She stepped closer, close enough that he had to lift his chin to keep her face in view while seated. "And trust here isn't what you feel. It's who moves when the risk shows up. I moved. Kellen's talking instead of selling us this minute. That's the best version you're getting."

Kellen spread his hands. "She's charming, but she's not wrong."

Elias looked from one to the other. His hand closed around the satchel strap. Wire. Matchbox. Notes. The few pieces of the old world he had clawed back from a museum built to admire survival while denying it. If he paid, he lost tools and leverage. If he refused, he was a limping stranger in a maze that had nearly killed him on sight.

Pride rose first. Then reason, late and bitter, put a hand over its mouth.

"Done," he said.

Kellen's brows lifted just a fraction. He had expected more fight. That annoyed Elias further.