The safehouse was a squat, low-slung building tucked between two abandoned shipping depots on the edge of City H's industrial district. From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a rusted-out utility shed. Inside, however, it was all hard corners and reinforced steel. Dim lighting. A concrete floor scrubbed clean, matte black tables, and old military cots pressed flat against the walls.
Zubair leaned over the long table in the center of the room, his fingers splayed against a satellite map. He didn't look up when Lachlan entered—just grunted once in greeting. Elias was already seated, his notebook open as he chewed absently on the edge of a pencil, like the world wasn't five seconds from falling apart. Alexei lounged sideways across a chair near the window, one boot propped up, eyes half-lidded.
