By evening the park had emptied back toward the terraces, and with it the bright mood of the day. Through the long afternoon they stayed by the warmed retaining wall until Lina's shaking eased and her voice stopped catching on every third breath; when she could stand, Elias walked her slowly through the upper gardens, stopping often, and chose not to return to the ridge. He stayed near one of the open garden shelters where curved walls cut the wind and low woven mats had been laid for sleep. Lina dozed near the entrance after eating almost nothing, waking once in a while with a start when shadows deepened between the trees. Each time she saw him still there, she settled again.

Night in the upper gardens was never fully dark. Dome light and path glow kept a faint silver on everything. Even so, the edges held pockets where shape could gather. Elias lay on his side because his ribs refused any other position and stared out through the shelter opening at the black line of the far hedges.

He mapped Lina’s words against what he had seen below: the hidden workers, the marks under the dead screens, the child’s repaired shoe in the sleeping recess. Surface ease above. Labor and memory loss below, or perhaps between. Intake, sorting, maintenance, removal. Tarek would have called it humane if it reduced conflict. Tarek had always known how to sand cruelty until it sounded like care.

The garden was quiet except for water far off and the faint hum under the ground that he could now never stop hearing.