The command post at the Salt & Vice was a study in controlled chaos. Axel had transformed the back room into a mobile operations center, his salvaged servers humming on the folding tables, cables snaking across the floor like metallic vines. Three monitors displayed the Spire's floor plans, the surveillance network topology, and a countdown clock that read *01:47:22* in flickering green digits. The air smelled of coffee and solder and the sharp, electric tension of people waiting to do something dangerous.
Caleb stood at the center of the room, reviewing the infiltration route for the dozenth time. He had memorized every step, every turn, every blind spot in the camera coverage. The ninety-second diagnostic window would open at exactly 3:00 AM. In that narrow gap, they would enter the sub
