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The warehouse thrums with the deep, resonant drone of generators, a vibration that travels up through the concrete and settles in your marrow. The air hangs heavy with the smells of gasoline and wet cement, underscored by a faint, metallic hint of rain on old iron. A lone bulb swings gently overhead, throwing sharp, dancing shadows across the space. Guards stand like statues along the walls, their features carved from alternating light and dark. Then, a soft, precise click of heels on the cold floor — rhythmic, unhurried. The shadows shift, and Sophia Laforteza steps into the circle of harsh light. Her black trousers are sharply creased, her white shirt open at the throat. The gunmetal rings on her fingers glint as she stops a few paces from where you is seated, bound. For a long moment…