They moved again. This time she let him keep the satchel, though not the rods. Trust, then, measured in inches. After another turn the tunnel widened into an old service bay hacked into livable shape. Transit schematics papered the wall in layers, some printed, some hand-drawn over older lines. Stripped sensors hung from hooks like dead eyes. Route markers made from bent foil, snapped circuit boards, and paint chips were sorted in trays. A low lamp burned behind a screen of mesh.

A man looked up from a spread of open map sheets and did not stand.

Kellen was younger than Elias expected and harder to place. Quick face, quick hands, clothes built from trade and repair rather than uniform need. He had one boot up on a crate, a stylus tucked behind his ear, and the alert stillness of someone who never let surprise reach his mouth before he priced it.

His gaze flicked to Mara, then to Elias, then to the satchel.

"You brought me a surface scholar," he said. "What did I do to deserve that?"

"You asked for business," Mara said. "This is the ugly form of it."

Kellen snorted and leaned back in his chair. "You look terrible, scholar. Sit if you're going to fall. Not on the maps."

Elias did not sit at once, which meant that when he finally did lower himself onto an overturned crate, it looked less like choice than necessity. Pain climbed under his shoulder blade and stayed there. He set the satchel between his boots.

"I need route data to archive-adjacent levels," he said. "Current if possible."