By noon, others had come and gone in little groups. They offered him water, touched the dead branch he had snapped, laughed softly when he pressed his ear to the wall, and lost interest within minutes. His urgency was a passing shape to them, no more lasting than a bird over the path. One young man tried to mimic Elias’s push against the door, then wandered off before he had even put real weight into it. A woman asked whether the bronze was warm. When Elias said yes, she laid two fingers on it, smiled at the heat as if that settled the matter, and left for the nearest shade tree.

The hours stretched his patience thin.

By the time the light began to lean west, Lina had moved farther and farther from the tower without seeming to mean to. Each time he looked up, she was another few steps toward the bright paths, her body angled to leave even while she watched him. The shadow from the building had lengthened across the ground. People noticed it before they seemed to notice the evening itself. Routes shifted. Laughter thinned around this side of the gardens.

Elias crossed to her. “You’re going.”

She nodded, ashamed of it. “You should come too.”

Elias said, “Not yet.”

Her gaze flicked toward the low planted ridge beyond the tower. “When dark comes, places change.”

Elias said, “Places don’t change. Visibility does.”

“That is not always different.” Her voice came small but steady. “Please.”