At the third relay, in a luxury high-rise, the team confronted the leader: a charismatic fixer known only as Hot. She’d wired herself into the building’s central conduit, a crown of cables like a halo of malfunctioning stars. Hot’s voice streamed through the corridor speakers: “You’re too late, Cortez. The city will dance to our rhythm.” Her words were laced with a synthetic calm, but Arin heard fear beneath the bravado.