Then the ground gave a sharp, close tremor under his soles.

Elias dropped into a crouch behind the ridge. The vent nearest him exhaled once, hard, and fell still. A narrow line in the recessed patch darkened as dust slid inward. Not opening fully. Not yet. A latch release, maybe. Pressure equalizing.

He leaned forward, every muscle in him awake despite the ache. The red-brown gloom pooled thick between the tower and the outer trees. For a few seconds he saw nothing. Then a shape moved where no shape had been.

Pale. Fast. Human.

One figure came up from the shadowed cut near the hatch, then another behind it, both leaner than the garden people and carrying themselves with a tight balance he had not seen above. They did not drift. They placed each foot with care, heads turning in quick checks of the dark. Clothes close to the body. Light skin gone gray under the evening dome. One of them hauled a narrow crate or tool case from the opening with practiced ease while the other scanned the grounds.

Not ghosts. Not drones. People.

Elias rose before caution could stop him. “Wait.”

Both figures snapped toward his voice.

Even at that distance he caught the shock in the stillness that hit them. Not the blank surprise of the upper gardens. This was alert, hard, immediate. The nearer one stepped back, body half-turned to shield the opening. The other bent, grabbed the case, and made a short hand signal Elias did not understand.

“I’m not with—” he began.