The strangers slowed only a little. One of the women—if woman was the right word; she looked young, though he had no scale for these people yet—laughed with simple delight and covered her mouth as if he were a clever animal that had just done a trick. A taller man beside her leaned in, eyes wide, not suspicious but curious in a soft, almost childlike way. Another reached toward Elias's sleeve, then touched the torn fabric with two fingers and smiled.

No fear. No shock. No demand to know who he was, where he had come from, why a machine half wrecked had appeared in their garden.

Their calm should have soothed him. Instead it unsettled him so sharply that his skin went cold despite the heat.

A civilization that could build domes over cities and bright rings in orbit should not meet the impossible with such vacant ease.

"I need help," Elias said, slower now, trying plain words. He pointed back at the machine. "Danger. Broken. Do you understand danger?"

The nearest man repeated the last word in a light, musical tone, as if tasting it for the first time. "Danger?"

Then he smiled again and touched Elias's bruised wrist with open, gentle concern, but even that concern had no depth behind it that Elias could read. It was kindness without urgency, interest without caution.