The case stayed light all the way up.
Caleb had carried heavier groceries and heavier wrenches. The titanium handle gripped his off-hand the way an empty toolbox gripped it, light enough to make the climb feel insulting. Money had always been work that never paid him back.
The corridor at the top opened into the main shift-change traffic. Mechanics with carts. A medic running the wrong direction. Two First Division aides moving with the kind of unhurried pace that meant they were where they needed to be already.
Elara was at the third pillar from the stairs.
She stood in that narrow space between waiting and coincidence. He stepped out of the foot traffic and stopped at her shoulder, the case still in his off-hand, the harness over his right.
Her eyes touched the case once and moved on.
"Walk with me," she said.
He walked with her.
