The search took the afternoon from him. His pace slowed. Midway through a narrow service bend he had to stop longer than before, one hand flat to a warm wall while the pain under his ribs climbed high enough to gray the edges of his sight. Lina said nothing, only waited beside him until he could push off again, and after that he cut one promising branch of the route rather than admit he could not afford it. He had to stop twice and press a fist to his side until the stabbing under his ribs dulled to a hot drag. Lina never told him to stop outright. She did something worse for his pride and kinder for his body: she shortened her own stride whenever he lagged and pretended that had always been her speed.

At the rear of a broad eating terrace they found a service strip hidden behind hanging fruit nets. Slender tubes ran inside a cracked wall chase, colored bands still faintly visible under dust. Nearby, a vent stack pushed out cool air in measured breaths. Fifty yards farther on, behind a grove of ornamental reeds, another hatch sat flush with the paving, its edges worn by real use instead of display polish.

Elias crouched, careful this time, and traced the scrape marks around the lock seam. "Regular access. Not old."

"From below?" Lina asked.

Elias narrowed his eyes at the wall's branching lines. "From both directions, I think."