Eli drew the dungeon from memory on the back of the registry’s job-category sheet.
The entrance was a narrow cut in a concrete underpass. Beyond it, the first corridor bent left around a column, then opened into a chamber with three shallow pools. The old team had found the stabilization crystal in a fissure beyond the third pool, after losing half a day to creatures that nested in the water.
He marked the place with an X and wrote the buyer’s name beside it: Meridian Recovery.
The number below the name was the price he remembered seeing on the payment statement. He had been a porter then too. His share had been small enough that he remembered every deduction, but the sale itself had been large enough to pay for the clinic’s immediate needs several times over.
A second number went beside it: the amount Tessa and the volunteers needed to order dressings and medicine. Eli looked from one figure to the other.
The first depended on a crystal being where it had been in a future that no longer existed. The second was real and already overdue.
He folded the sheet and took the bus toward the underpass. The morning traffic was slow. Two lanes had been reserved for emergency vehicles, and police directed cars around a truck unloading concrete barriers. Passengers craned their necks to see a column of pale light above the rooftops. A child asked whether it was a gate. His father told him not to point.
Eli got off three stops early because the bus route had been diverted. He walked past shuttered storefronts and a row of market stalls where the owners were setting up despite the cordon. One stall sold gloves and flashlights. A handwritten sign advertised GATE-READY EQUIPMENT. Eli picked up a flashlight, tested its switch, and watched the beam flicker out when he tapped the casing.
“Batteries,” the seller said. “Easy fix.”
“Then why haven’t you fixed it?”
The seller shrugged. “You want a better one, it’s twice the price.”
Eli set the light down. At the next stall he bought a roll of adhesive tape and a bottle of water. He had learned the price of forgetting water in his first life, during a recovery job where the team leader considered it the workers’ responsibility. He had also learned that buying cheap equipment twice could cost more than buying a reliable piece once. Today he had to settle for what he could afford.
The road to the underpass ended at a metal fence. Beyond it, the concrete barriers formed a second perimeter. Two guards checked papers at a portable desk. A government notice hung on the fence: AUTHORIZED EXPEDITIONS ONLY. NO INDIVIDUAL ENTRY. Below it, a smaller page listed the documents required for workers and supervisors.
Eli stopped short of the line and unfolded his map. In his first life there had been no fence here when he first visited to help carry the earlier expedition’s find outside. He had not entered the gate with that team; its map and the crew’s account were his sources for the route within. The gate had opened quietly, and a local business owner had hired a small team to remove creatures threatening a drainage tunnel. By the time the authorities learned about the crystal, Meridian had already purchased it.
Now a truck with a government seal was parked where the business owner’s van had stood. The gate itself shimmered beneath the underpass, visible between the guards whenever a vehicle passed. It looked exactly as Eli remembered: a rippling vertical surface, the color of cloudy glass, with light gathering along its edges.
The surroundings were enough to make his map unreliable.
He joined the queue at the desk. Ahead of him, a pair of hunters argued about whether a missing stamp could be supplied electronically. One guard took their application inside a portable office. The other continued checking permits while the hunters waited.
Eli reached the desk and presented his new card.
The guard read it. “Which expedition?”
“I’m looking for work.”
“Then you don’t need to come through the fence.”
“I want to verify the access rules first.”
The guard turned the card over. “F rank needs an approved party and a registered supervisor. Your supervisor submits the list before you enter. If your name isn’t on it, you don’t go in.”
“Can I apply to survey the entrance?”
“Not on that card.”
“What if I stay on this side of the gate?”
“This side of the gate is still inside the restricted area.” The guard handed the card back. “You can ask the information desk for a list of registered teams. It’s in the tent on the corner.”
“Has anyone entered yet?”
“Survey team yesterday. I don’t have their report.”
The two hunters ahead of him had stopped arguing and were listening. One of them asked, “Did they find anything?”
“I don’t have their report,” the guard repeated.
Eli stepped away. The information tent had a table, three chairs and a board covered with notices. A woman behind the table was answering questions from a contractor whose truck had been refused entry. She pointed out that his delivery authorization named a different gate. He insisted the gates were only two streets apart. She told him the authorization still named the wrong one.
When Eli’s turn came, he asked for the list of registered teams.
“We don’t publish the full list,” the woman said. “Teams recruiting publicly can post on the board. If you’re already hired, your leader can confirm whether your name was submitted.”
“Can I see the survey report?”
“Not here.” She passed him a card with a public records address. “You can request the releasable portion. I can’t tell you how long it will take.”
He wrote the address next to Anton’s information office. Two places to ask questions, neither likely to produce medicine by tomorrow.
The board held six notices. Four sought combatants above his rank. One requested a licensed driver with a vehicle large enough to carry sealed containers. The last was for a porter and a field medic. Eli leaned closer.
The expedition offered a daily fee plus a share of recovered material. Applicants were to attend a contract meeting that evening at a rented room near the transit station. The notice named the leader, R. Corvin, and gave a registry number. Eli did not recognize either.
He copied the details. The posted fee looked adequate, but the notice did not say who supplied equipment, how a share would be calculated or what would happen if the party had to leave early. The previous day’s misleading advertisement had taught him to look for the terms that weren’t there as well as the ones that were.
At the fence, an expedition truck arrived. A guard checked a clipboard against the driver’s documents and opened the barrier. Four people climbed from the back: two carrying long equipment cases, one in light armor, and a woman with a crate of sealed water bottles. They moved with the practiced impatience of people who had already loaded everything once that morning.
Eli watched them queue for inspection. The woman with the water set the crate down and flexed her fingers. When one of the guards asked her to open it, she did so without complaint, though the lid snagged and spilled two bottles onto the pavement.
He could follow when the truck went through. He could take the few seconds while the guards checked the crate, keep close to the vehicle and reach the gate before anyone saw him.
The thought arrived with the clarity of an old habit. In his first life, he had survived by finding openings other people missed. Most had been small: a door left unlocked, a shift change, a supervisor too busy to count the people following him. Once he had learned where valuable material lay, the temptation to get there first had become difficult to ignore.
He imagined the next steps. If the guards caught him, he could lose the permit he had spent a day obtaining. If they missed him, the expedition would discover an extra person inside a restricted gate. They might leave him behind, drag him out, or demand a share of anything he recovered. He would have no supplies, no registered party, and no way to know whether the old corridor still led to the crystal.
He also imagined arriving at Mrs. Ortega’s shop with an explanation instead of medicine: he had known where a valuable crystal might be, and he had lost the only card that allowed him to work while trying to reach it.
The truck passed the inner barrier. Eli remained where he was.
The woman with the water noticed him watching and came back toward the fence while the rest of the team unloaded. “Are you waiting for someone?” she asked.
“Looking for work. I saw the porter notice.”
“That’s a different group.” She pointed at the notice board. “We’re full.”
“Has your team been through before?”
“Not this gate.” She glanced at his card. “If you’re considering Corvin’s team, ask about the load. He hired a friend of mine for a structural survey before the gates appeared.”
“What happened?”
“She carried equipment. That’s the whole story. The contract said porter, so she expected equipment, but she didn’t know how much until the morning of entry. She nearly couldn’t climb the exit ramp with it.”
“Did she get paid?”
“She says she did. I’m not accusing him of withholding money. I’m telling you to ask how much weight he expects you to carry.”
“Thank you.”
The woman picked up her crate and returned to her group. Eli added LOAD LIMIT to his notes. He did not know whether Corvin had given the friend an unreasonable burden or whether the woman had heard only one side of the story. He knew the question mattered either way.
He circled the perimeter, looking for a vantage point from which he could see more of the gate. The fence turned around a vacant lot and ended against a line of buildings. A responder waved him away from a gap where he tried to look through the barriers. Eli complied. From the street on the other side, he could see the upper edge of the underpass and the light flickering beneath it, but nothing of the dungeon beyond.
At a corner café, he bought the cheapest tea and used a table to revise his map. He had written the old route as though it were a set of directions. Now he labeled it MEMORY and placed question marks beside the column, the pools and the fissure. He added a note that the survey team had entered before the first expedition he remembered.
If the same crystal existed, the survey team might already have taken it. If it had not, the licensed team might claim it under terms that left Eli with only a few coins. If Meridian had not yet learned to process stabilization crystals, the buyer might not offer anything close to the old price. There was also the possibility that the crystal had formed under conditions that had changed along with the timing of the gate.
None of those possibilities made the job worthless. They made the amount uncertain.
He listed what he needed to ask: guaranteed fee; share calculation; expenses; injury coverage; who could order evacuation; payment if the job ended early; expected load; whether the party had access to the survey report.
The last item made him hesitate. Asking for the report was reasonable. Explaining why he was interested in a fissure beyond three pools would not be. He drew a line through a question about the crystal’s exact location and replaced it with a broader one about how discoveries would be divided.
The café owner came to clear the table. “If you’re finished, I need the seat.”
Eli apologized and stood. The man glanced at the list.
“Going inside?”
“Considering a job.”
“My brother went into one of those things yesterday. The team brought him out when he twisted his ankle.” The owner gathered the cup. “He was angry because he wanted to finish, but I’m glad they didn’t listen to him.”
“What was the rule?”
“He said the medic could call the retreat. Leader didn’t like it. The medic called anyway.” The man tucked the cup against his tray. “Ask who gets to make that decision.”
Eli showed him the line he had already written. The owner gave a short nod and carried the cup away.
At the clinic, Leah was seated behind the counter with her notebook. A cardboard box sat beside her, sealed and labeled with the donor’s name. She opened the notebook and drew a careful line through the corresponding pledge, then entered the delivered items on the stock page.
“You came at the right time,” she said. “Can you carry that to the back? I’m not allowed to pretend my leg is better because the box is inconvenient.”
“Who made that rule?”
“Me, after Tessa made it.”
The box contained dressings and two bottles of antiseptic. The donation would help, though the quantities were smaller than the clinic had hoped. Eli carried it into the storeroom and checked the labels with Marisol before putting anything on the shelf.
Tessa was with a patient, so he waited at the counter. A woman came in to ask whether her father’s prescription could be replaced after the evacuation. Leah helped her make a list of the medicines and the pharmacy where they had been filled. She did not promise a replacement; she offered to call with her. It took three attempts to reach someone who could locate the record.
When Tessa emerged, she had a mark on her sleeve where she had leaned against a wet counter. She saw Eli’s face and looked toward the folded paper in his hand.
“You found a job?”
“Maybe.” He gave her the notice he had copied. “A team is hiring a porter.”
She read it. “And a medic.”
“I saw that.”
“Where’s the gate?”
He named the underpass.
“I heard about it from Dev,” she said. “A customer brought the notice into the pharmacy. The fee would cover the first order if the terms are what they look like.”
“They don’t say enough to know.” He showed her the questions he had written.
She read those too. “Who can call an evacuation?”
“It’s on the list.”
“Good.” She traced a line beneath it. “I’d add who supplies the medical kit and whether injured workers keep their share if the expedition ends early.”
Eli took the paper back and wrote both. He had pictured himself earning the money while Tessa stayed here with patients. The word medic on the notice changed the shape of the opportunity, although she had not yet said what she intended to do.
“Are you thinking of applying?” he asked.
“I’m thinking about the order we need to place.” She handed him the inventory. “Dev says two days once the supplier confirms payment. If the donated dressings last longer than expected, that buys us a little time. It doesn’t pay for the medicine.”
“We could find another job.”
“We should keep looking. That doesn’t answer whether this one is reasonable.”
He had no basis for telling her it was not. The fence had taken his imagined certainty apart, and the list of questions had not yet supplied answers. Still, he looked at the notice and saw the mouth of the underpass, the light moving in the gate, and a route that might no longer exist.
“I’ll attend the meeting,” he said.
“So might I.”
Tessa returned to her patient before he could answer. Eli stood at the counter with the two lists in his hands: a concrete price for supplies and an uncertain offer of money. He had gone to the gate expecting to find a route. He had come back with a contract meeting and a person he was afraid to see walk through the entrance beside him.