The service entrance at the rear of La Catedral was a narrow, unmarked door set into a wall of damp stone, its surface scarred by decades of deliveries and hurried exits. A single bulb above the frame cast a weak yellow light, and beyond it, the hum of the city faded to a low, constant murmur. Vance Okonkwo pressed himself against the wall beside the door, his service weapon drawn and ready, his breath shallow and controlled. Deji was at his other side, his hands trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the cold, the exhaustion, and the electric anticipation that preceded violence. Veyra stood a few steps back, her dark eyes fixed on the door, her blade already in her hand.
"On my signal," Vance whispered into the comms. "Three. Two. One."
Deji's boot connected with the door just below
