The silence in the workshop was shattered by the sharp, rhythmic pounding of heavy combat boots against the metal exterior. Zeta was still resting on the small cot in the corner when the sound arrived, a jarring intrusion into the dim, shadowy peace of the hideout. He sat up immediately, his breath hitching in his chest. Mara stood by the central workbench, her hand frozen in mid-motion as she held a heavy spanner. She looked toward the door, her face pale, the realization of what was happening dawning in her eyes.
"They found us," Mara whispered, her voice tight with fear.
Zeta moved to the small, grimy window near his cot and peered out into the night. The alleyway was bathed in the harsh, white glare of high-intensity floodlights mounted on armored squad vehicles. Vane stood at the
