5:48 AM. Day 16.
The Archbishop's siege was complete.
Not finished. Complete. The difference mattered. Finished meant the work was done. Complete meant the system was functional. The Archbishop didn't need finished walls or perfect approach lanes. He needed a courtyard that could sustain an advance. He had it.
Jae-min tracked the formation through the scope. The debris walls ran in broken zigzag lines from the cluster to the gap between Buildings B and C. Three approach lanes now, not one. The main lane faced Building B directly. Two flanking lanes angled northeast and southeast, creating multiple vectors of advance. The walls between the lanes stood thirty to fifty centimeters high—enough to break wind, break line of sight, break the ballistic advantage of a shooter two hundred meters away.
The cluster had grown again. Seventy followers now, pulled from the reserves inside Building C. The thermal blob was tighter than before. Minus sixty-three inside. Minus seventy outside. The Enhanced at the cardinal positions were cycling their barriers in shifts. Their heat bubbles had shrunk but held.
The Archbishop was still inside. Jae-min couldn't see him through the kinetic barriers. But he could feel the signature. Dense. Compressed. Patient.
The commands came every ninety seconds.
"Rotate."
"Hold."
"Reinforce."
Mechanical. Automatic. The Archbishop had reduced warfare to a protocol.
The gray light of approaching dawn made everything worse. Not brighter—just visible. Jae-min could see the details now. The followers' breath freezing as it left their mouths. The frost on their eyelashes. The gray-blue of their skin where the cold had already started to kill them. He could see the debris walls up close—the concrete chunks stacked by frozen hands, the rebar bent into angles, the ice packed into the gaps to seal them.
He could see the approach lanes. All three of them. Clear lines of advance that would let the Archbishop's followers cross seventy meters of open ground in under a minute, with cover every three seconds.
Two rounds in the magazine.
The cold stayed at minus seventy.
5:51 AM.
Yue spoke first.
"If you wait, you lose the ground."
Jae-min didn't answer. His eyes were on the scope.
"The structure is stabilizing. Every minute he builds, the harder it is to break. Right now, the walls are fresh. Unconsolidated. The followers are still learning the rotation. The Enhanced are still shifting positions."
She paused. Jae-min felt her heartbeat. Ninety-three. Fast but controlled.
"Give it another hour and the system runs itself. He won't need to command anymore. The followers will build because they've been building. The Enhanced will cycle because they've been cycling. The walls will hold because they've been holding."
"I know."
"Then stop watching. Start shooting."
Jae-min lowered the scope a fraction. Looked at her.
Her face was calm. The blood on her neck had frozen into a dark crust that she still hadn't noticed. Her left arm was useless in the sling. Her breath fogged in the minus seventy. Her eyes were on the courtyard. Not on him.
She wasn't afraid. She wasn't urgent. She was clinical.
"Break the lanes."
He turned back to the scope.
"Force exposure."
The thermal overlay painted the picture. Three approach lanes. Six junction points where the walls met. Two rotation windows on the near side of the cluster where followers exchanged positions every ninety seconds.
"Target timing, not bodies."
She was beside him. Shoulder against his. Her breath at his ear.
"You hit the junction where the main lane meets the cluster wall. The debris collapses. The cover disappears. The followers in the lane are exposed for four to five seconds."
"And the second shot?"
"The rotation window. The moment followers exchange, the east-cardinal Enhanced shifts his barrier to cover the gap. That's a two-second window where the barrier coverage thins on the northeast flank."
"Two seconds."
"Enough to collapse a section of the flanking wall. The combined exposure forces a split response. The Enhanced can't reinforce both points at once."
Jae-min tracked the junction she'd identified. Main lane. Fifty meters from the cluster. The point where the approach corridor narrowed before entering the fortified perimeter. The wall segments there were the newest—stacked in the last twenty minutes. Less consolidated. Less stable.
He tracked the rotation window. East side of the cluster. The exchange happened every ninety seconds. Ten followers out. Ten followers in. The east-cardinal Enhanced shifted his barrier to cover the gap during the transition. Two seconds of thin coverage on the northeast flank.
Two shots. Two targets. Two different points of disruption.
"Timing."
"Your call."
Yue's voice was flat. Professional. The same voice she'd used at 2:24 AM when she'd called the first targets of the night. Six hours ago. Six kills ago. Before the Archbishop had built an army on frozen rubble.
Jae-min watched the rotation window. Counted. The exchange was forty-five seconds in, forty-five seconds out. The thin coverage window came at the midpoint—when the outgoing followers had cleared the barrier edge but the incoming followers hadn't reached their positions.
He waited.
5:54 AM.
The rotation began.
Ten followers rose from the cluster's heat core. Moved toward the east barrier. The east-cardinal Enhanced shifted his coverage to open a passage.
Jae-min fired.
First round. The muzzle flickered.
The exit portal appeared at the junction where the main approach lane met the cluster wall. Not at the wall itself—at the frozen ground beneath it. The round buried itself two meters deep. The impact traveled through the ice. The ground cracked. Vibrated.
The newest wall section shifted. Concrete chunks tilted. Rebar bent. The whole structure groaned for a half second—
And collapsed.
A four-meter section of the main approach wall fell inward. Debris tumbled across the lane. The followers who'd been crouched behind it scrambled. Three of them broke cover. Two dove toward the secondary wall. One ran for the cluster.
Exposed.
The Archbishop's formation lurched. The thermal overlay showed it clearly—heat signatures scattering at the breach point. The east-cardinal Enhanced reacted. His barrier expanded toward the collapse. Covering. Containing.
That was the split.
Because the moment the east-cardinal shifted, the northeast flank went thin.
Jae-min fired.
Second round.
The exit portal appeared at the base of the flanking wall's northeast section. The debris there was older. More consolidated. Jae-min hadn't aimed to collapse it. He'd aimed at the ground beneath it—the ice seam where the wall met the frozen pool. The round cracked the seam. The ice split. A three-meter section of the flanking wall tilted outward and fell.
Two exposure points. Open simultaneously. Fifteen followers scattered between them. The cold poured into the gaps. Minus seventy hitting exposed skin and frozen clothing and bodies that had been sheltered for twenty minutes.
The Archbishop's system reacted. The south-cardinal and west-cardinal Enhanced expanded their barriers to cover the northeast breach. The north-cardinal covered the main lane collapse. The four kinetic barriers overlapped in a shifting net of compressed air that sealed the gaps within eight seconds.
Eight seconds of exposure. Fifteen followers affected. Three went to their knees. The others scrambled behind cover.
But the walls were broken.
The approach lanes had gaps. The carefully constructed corridor system was compromised. Two sections of debris lay in heaps on the frozen ground. The clear lines of advance were interrupted.
Jae-min lowered the rifle.
Zero rounds.
The scope fogged when his breath hit it. He wiped it. His fingers were stiff. The cold was inside him now—not in his bones, deeper. In the space behind his ribs where the spatial awareness lived. The exhaustion was a physical thing, pressing against the inside of his skull like ice water.
Yue tracked the aftermath. Her voice came tight and fast.
"Fourteen followers exposed. Three collapsed—core temp dropping fast. The others are behind cover but the walls are down. Repair crews are moving. Two Enhanced detached from the cardinal positions to cover the gaps directly. He's lost two barrier points on the perimeter."
"Repair time?"
"Three minutes to restructure the main lane wall. Maybe five for the northeast flank. They have the debris. They have the bodies. They'll rebuild."
"They always rebuild."
"Yes. But not instantly. The system works when it has time. We just took time from it."
Jae-min said nothing. He was watching the Archbishop's cluster through the naked eye. The gray dawn light showed the damage clearly. Two dark gaps in the debris wall system where the sections had collapsed. Followers moving between them—some carrying rubble, some helping the collapsed. The east-cardinal Enhanced had returned to his position. His barrier was back up. But the wall behind him was gone.
Yue was right. The system would rebuild. Three minutes. Five minutes. The followers would stack new concrete, pack new gaps, seal new walls. The approach lanes would re-form. The siege would continue.
But for five minutes, the Archbishop's courtyard was broken.
And Jae-min had no rounds left to break it again.
5:57 AM.
The Archbishop moved.
Not inside the cluster. Out of it.
Jae-min felt the signature shift. Dense. Hot. Compressed. The kinetic aura flared as the Archbishop stepped through the east barrier gap and into the open air of the courtyard. Minus seventy hit him. He didn't flinch.
He walked.
Not toward Building B. Not toward the balcony. Toward the collapsed main lane wall. Toward the debris heap that had been his followers' cover. He walked slowly. Deliberately. Stopping at the edge of the breach.
He looked at the collapse.
Then he looked at the balcony.
The distance between them was fifty meters. The gray light was enough for Jae-min to see the Archbishop's face. Not clearly—the distance and the cold distorted the details. But the shape. The set of the jaw. The eyes.
The eyes were different.
In the early hours of the night, Jae-min had watched the Archbishop through the scope. The eyes had been calculating. Measuring. The eyes of an engineer reading a blueprint.
Now they were something else.
Not angry. Not afraid.
Focused.
The Archbishop turned from the balcony. Raised his right hand. Palm out.
Not a kinetic construct. A signal.
Behind the cluster, two groups of followers emerged from Building C. Twenty in each group. Forty fresh bodies. They moved to the flanking lanes—the northeast and southeast approaches. Not walking. Moving with purpose. Faster than the rotation followers. Stronger. Better clothed.
They were not the weakest.
The Archbishop was committing his reserves.
Jae-min tracked the signatures inside Building C as the fresh groups emerged. Thirty-three heartbeats on the upper floors—Marcelo's sixteen on seventeen, seventeen scattered below. The reserves that had just walked out weren't from the upper floors. They were from the lower levels. The ones the Archbishop had cleared during the initial breach and stockpiled like ammunition.
Marcelo's seventeen heartbeats hadn't moved. Still clustered on seventeen. Still waiting.
Jae-min watched through the scope. The fresh groups took positions at the far ends of the flanking approach lanes. They didn't stop. They started moving forward. Down the lanes. Behind the debris walls. Using the cover the system had built.
Not advancing toward Building B. Advancing toward the gaps.
The two collapsed wall sections were forty meters from Building B's eastern face. Twenty meters from the cluster. The fresh followers were closing that distance. Not running. Not rushing. Controlled. Deliberate. Filling the gaps with bodies. Rebuilding the walls from the inside out.
But they weren't just rebuilding.
The southeast group pushed past the damaged section. Continued down the lane. The debris walls on either side gave them cover from the balcony. They moved in pairs—two followers carrying a concrete chunk, setting it down, moving back for another. Extending the wall. Lengthening the approach lane.
Not repairing the breach.
Pushing it forward.
The Archbishop watched from the center of the lane. Hands at his sides. His kinetic aura was active now—a tight sphere of compressed air around his body. Minus sixty-three inside the sphere. Minus seventy outside. He didn't need it for warmth. He needed it for presence. The aura made him visible. Made him a point of reference. His followers could see him. They knew where he was.
They built toward him.
"He's pushing the lane."
Yue's voice was flat. But her heartbeat had jumped to ninety-seven.
"He's not just rebuilding. He's extending the approach. The wall sections they're building past the breach—they're twenty meters closer to Building B than the original lane ended."
"How long?"
"At their current pace? Fifteen minutes before the lane extension reaches Building B's eastern face."
"Then they're at our wall."
"Then they're at the concrete. The sealed doors. The polycarbonate."
Jae-min tracked the extension through the scope. The followers were moving fast. The debris they carried was lighter—smaller chunks, shorter rebar, packed ice. Faster to position. Faster to stack. The wall was growing toward Building B at a rate of roughly one meter per minute.
Fifteen meters to cover. Fifteen minutes.
The Archbishop was no longer building a siege. He was conducting one.
6:02 AM.
The corridor shuddered.
Not an impact. A vibration. The kind of deep structural groan that traveled through a building's skeleton when something fundamental was shifting. The polycarbonate flexed. The south panel's gap—nine centimeters for the last two hours—pulsed. Widened to ten. Contracted back to nine.
Alessia felt it through the floor before she saw it. Her hand was on the concrete. The vibration passed through her palm and into her wrist like a cold electric current.
"The building is shifting."
Rico looked at her from across the corridor. His face hadn't changed in four hours. Hard. Set. The M4 in his hands. His shoulders tight enough to crack.
"Thermal contraction." His voice was flat. "The temperature differential between inside and outside is pulling at the structure. Minus seventy outside. Minus sixty-six in here. The concrete expands and contracts at different rates. The bolts and brackets absorb the stress until they can't."
"The gap."
"Is still nine centimeters. The flex was temporary. The bolts held."
"Three of them sheared earlier."
"Four of them now." Alessia's voice was clinical. She'd felt the vibration through the concrete and she knew what it meant. Another bolt had given way. The south panel was held by friction, Rico's weight, and nothing else.
She moved to the gap. Knelt beside it. Held her hand in the cold air stream.
"Minus sixty-eight."
"The corridor?"
"Minus sixty-seven. It dropped a degree during the vibration. The air exchange was faster when the panel flexed."
"Is it recovering?"
Alessia waited. Counted. The generator hummed two floors below. The heat pushed up. The cold leaked in. She counted sixty seconds.
"Stabilizing at minus sixty-seven. Not recovering to sixty-six."
Rico said nothing.
The pregnant sister from 1422 opened her eyes. "It's colder."
"Just a degree." Alessia turned to her. "The generator is still running. The seal is still intact."
"But it's not getting better."
No. It wasn't.
Alessia moved through the corridor. Checking pulses. Checking temperatures. The nine-year-old from 1504 was the priority. Her core temp was thirty-five point six. Down from thirty-five point eight. The drop was small but the direction was wrong. She'd been stabilizing. Now she was declining.
One degree of corridor temperature drop and the nine-year-old was sliding backward.
Alessia wrapped another blanket around her. The girl's father held her. His hands were shaking.
"How long?" The father's voice was raw.
Alessia didn't answer immediately. She counted the nine-year-old's pulse. Fifty-four. Down from fifty-eight.
"We don't have hours anymore."
The words landed like a stone in cold water. No splash. Just a heavy, final settling.
"If the temperature drops another degree, she crosses into hypothermia. If the gap widens to twelve centimeters, the generator can't maintain thermal equilibrium. If the Archbishop's next impact shifts the structure hard enough to shear the last bolt—"
"Stop."
The father's voice was not loud. It was empty. The voice of a man who understood exactly what she was describing and couldn't do anything about it.
Alessia stopped.
She moved to the next patient. Then the next. The old man from 1508 was quiet—too quiet. His heartbeat had dropped to fifty-eight. Still breathing, but the breathing had changed. Shallow. Irregular. The kind of rhythm that came from a body conserving energy by shutting down non-essential functions.
And Ji-yoo.
Ji-yoo's eyes were closed. Her breathing was worse than it had been at 5:35. The pauses between breaths had stretched from three seconds to four. Her right hand had slipped from her side, lying flat against the thermal blanket. The automatic pressure was gone—not because the pain had stopped, but because she'd stopped having the strength to maintain it.
Alessia pressed two fingers to her wrist. Pulse seventy-eight. Up from seventy-six twenty minutes ago. Still climbing. The heart was compensating harder now, pushing blood through a body that was losing the ability to circulate it efficiently.
"Ji-yoo."
Nothing.
"Ji-yoo."
Her eyelids flickered. Didn't open.
"Stay with me."
Alessia didn't know if she heard. The pellets were doing what pellets did in soft tissue—migrating, settling, finding new paths through muscle and fascia. Every shift was microscopic. Cumulatively, it was damage that compounded.
She pulled the thermal blanket tighter around Ji-yoo's shoulders. There was nothing else to do. Alessia couldn't remove the pellets. She didn't have the equipment. She didn't have the time. She didn't have the steady hands—the cold had stripped fine motor control hours ago.
She just had the cold, the blanket, and a body that was slowly failing.
Alessia moved on.
Behind her, Dizon shifted in the Stairwell B doorway. The vibration had rattled the steel frame. A fine dust had fallen from the ceiling above the stairwell and settled on his rifle barrel like gray snow. He brushed it off with a stiff finger.
The building was tired. He could feel it. Every vibration, every shudder, every deep structural groan—the concrete was past exhaustion. It was holding because that's what concrete did. But the margin was gone.
His replacement had finally stopped shivering. That wasn't a good sign. The body stopped shivering when it ran out of the energy to shiver. The man was twenty-three and his core temperature was dropping below what his metabolism could generate.
Dizon pulled him back from the doorway. Sat him against the wall. Took his position.
Two hours early on the rotation again.
Nobody said anything.
6:05 AM.
In the corner, Jennifer pressed her palms against her eyes.
The telepathy had been a low hum for the last hour. Emotional static from two hundred minds in the courtyard. Manageable. Background noise. The psychic equivalent of a fan running in an empty room.
Now the hum was louder.
The Archbishop's commitment of fresh followers had changed the psychic landscape. Forty new minds entering the courtyard—minds that were stronger, better fed, more disciplined than the ones they'd replaced. Their emotional signatures were sharper. More coherent. The overall signal had shifted from static to something closer to interference.
"—move… keep moving… don't stop—"
"—he's watching… the cold one… he's watching us—"
"—faster… build faster… he said faster—"
Jennifer's nose started to bleed. A thin line of red that ran from her left nostril to her upper lip. She wiped it with the back of her hand. The telepathy was running too hot. Too many signals. Too much emotional density in a compressed space.
"They're pushing."
Rico looked at her from across the corridor. He'd been moving between the stairwell positions, checking the men, checking the seal. His face hadn't changed. But his eyes were darker than they'd been an hour ago.
"The Archbishop's people. The fresh ones. They're motivated. More than the rotation followers. More than the workers." She paused. Wiped her nose again. More blood. "They're not afraid anymore. They're committed. He's told them something. Given them a reason. The emotional signal is... intense."
"What reason?"
"I can't read thoughts clearly enough. But the feeling is direction. Forward. Advance. They believe they're about to win something."
Jennifer leaned her head back against the wall. The glow behind her irises was flickering. Dimming. Brightening. The telepathy was cycling—spiking with each new emotional pulse from the courtyard, then retreating as her overloaded system tried to compensate.
"He's managing their minds." She said it again. Quieter this time. "Purpose prevents despair. He learned that hours ago. Now he's using it."
Rico looked at the polycarbonate panel. The gap. Nine centimeters. The last four bolts.
"Forty-three people in this corridor. Six of Victor's men on the stairs. Jennifer bleeding from her nose. Alessia running out of patients to save and time to save them with." His voice was flat. The voice of a man counting what he had left. "And two hundred people outside who believe they're about to win something."
No one answered.
The building groaned again. Deep. Structural. The sound of concrete that had been frozen for sixteen days and was running out of ways to hold itself together.
6:08 AM.
Jae-min raised the scope.
The southeast approach lane had grown by eight meters. The followers were twenty-two meters from Building B's eastern face. Seven minutes at current pace. The debris wall extension was crude but functional. Lower than the original walls. Less consolidated. But it was cover, and the followers were behind it, and the lane was getting shorter with every passing minute.
Zero rounds in the magazine.
He reached into spatial storage. Fresh magazine. Five rounds. Slapped it in. Cycled the bolt. The action was automatic. His hands moved without thought.
But the scope didn't sharpen when he looked through it.
The thermal overlay was fragmenting. Not at the edges—through the center. The noise pattern that had been a faint hum at the periphery an hour ago was now spreading inward. The temperature color map flickered. The heartbeat counter stuttered. He could feel four hundred and seventy-four signatures across three buildings, but the resolution was degrading. Where he'd been able to isolate individual heartbeats, he now saw clusters. Blurs. Shapes without edges.
Four days without sleep.
The spatial awareness was running on reserves. Every guided bullet he'd fired tonight had drawn from the same well. The void portals, the spatial compression, the real-time mapping—all of it fed by the same system. A system that was now hemorrhaging precision like a wound that wouldn't close.
He blinked. The overlay sharpened for three seconds. Then fragmented again.
His finger rested on the trigger. Five rounds in the magazine. But the targeting was unreliable. A guided bullet that missed its exit portal by ten centimeters was just a regular bullet. And a regular bullet couldn't void through space.
He lowered the scope.
Yue felt the shift in his posture. The micro-tension in his shoulders. The way his breathing changed—not faster, just harder. The exhales carrying more effort than they should.
"Your spatial awareness."
"Degrading. Center's holding. Resolution's gone."
"Can you still guide a round?"
"Yes. But not precisely. The exit portal might drift."
"By how much?"
"I don't know."
Three words. Jae-min didn't use them often. In a mind that counted heartbeats and mapped spaces, the gaps were small. This one wasn't small.
Yue absorbed the information without changing her expression. Her eyes moved across the courtyard. The approaching lane extension. The fresh followers. The Archbishop standing at the center of it all.
"He's committed his reserves. Forty fresh followers in the lanes. If those forty reach the wall, they breach the ground-floor access points. The polycarbonate won't stop bodies pressing against it at point-blank range."
"How long?"
"Seven minutes for the southeast lane. Maybe ten for the northeast. The main lane is still damaged."
"The main lane buys us time."
"The main lane buys them time too. They're rebuilding it as fast as they're extending the others. All three lanes will reach Building B within fifteen minutes regardless."
Jae-min looked at the courtyard. At the debris walls. At the followers building toward him. At the Archbishop standing in the gray light of a dawn that brought no warmth.
The cold held at minus seventy. Constant. Unchanging. A machine.
The distance was changing.
Twenty-two meters on the southeast lane. Twenty-eight on the northeast. Thirty-five on the main lane, still damaged, still being rebuilt. The Archbishop's followers were closer than they'd been at any point in the night. And they were still moving.
Jae-min reached into spatial storage. One more magazine. Five rounds. Into the pocket. The spare was there if he needed it.
Ten rounds total. Five in the rifle. Five in reserve.
But the rifle was less accurate now. The spatial awareness was failing. Every guided round he fired from this point forward carried the risk of a drifted exit portal. A missed shot would waste time. A missed shot would tell the Archbishop exactly how degraded he was.
Jae-min watched the southeast lane extension. The followers were twenty meters from Building B now. Carrying debris. Building walls. Closing the distance one meter at a time.
He didn't fire.
The moment he fired, the Archbishop would know the extent of his degradation. The Archbishop would see the portal drift. He would measure it. Calculate it. And adjust his strategy accordingly.
Better to hold the uncertainty.
The Archbishop didn't know how many rounds Jae-min had left. He didn't know the state of the spatial awareness. He didn't know whether the silence on the balcony was confidence or exhaustion.
Jae-min let the silence speak for him.
Yue's shoulder was against his. Her heartbeat was ninety-five. Fast. But steady.
"The lane extension will reach the wall in six minutes."
"I know."
"We need a decision before then."
"I know."
"What's the decision?"
Jae-min lowered the scope. Looked at the courtyard with his naked eye. The gray dawn painted everything in flat, dead light. The debris walls. The approach lanes. The followers building toward Building B. The Archbishop standing at the center of his advancing formation.
The cold stayed at minus seventy.
The distance was seventeen meters on the southeast lane. Closing.
"I'm not shooting at the walls again."
Yue turned to look at him. The first time since the glass broke that she'd turned her face toward his.
"Then what?"
Jae-min's eyes were on the Archbishop's silhouette. Dense. Compressed. Visible in the gray light.
"I'm going to make him commit everything."
Yue said nothing. She was watching his profile. The hollow cheeks. The violet eyes. The fine tremor that was back in his trigger hand. Not the same tremor from before—this one was deeper. Less visible. But she could feel it through the contact, the warmth of his shoulder against hers.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I stop playing defense."
He reached into his pocket. The spare magazine. Five rounds. He pressed it against the rifle stock. Didn't load it. Just held it there. A physical reminder.
"The siege isn't working for him. Not fast enough. The cold is killing his people faster than his walls can protect them. He committed his reserves because he ran out of patience. He's accelerating. That means he's making mistakes."
"What mistakes?"
"He's extending lanes without consolidating them. He's pushing followers forward without full barrier coverage. He's trading structure for speed." Jae-min's voice was flat. Clinical. The voice of someone reading data instead of planning a battle. "That's not a siege anymore. That's a charge. And charges break."
Yue's heartbeat held at ninety-five. She didn't respond immediately. She was thinking. Measuring. The same way she measured a swordfight—distance, angles, escape routes.
"And if it doesn't break?"
"Then we're standing on a balcony with ten rounds and a broken spatial awareness while two hundred people breach the ground floor."
"That's not a plan."
"That's the situation. The plan comes next."
The southeast lane extension reached fifteen meters from Building B's eastern face.
Four minutes.
Yue turned back to the courtyard. Her jaw was set. Her eyes were on the advancing followers.
"When?"
Jae-min's finger rested on the trigger. The spatial awareness flickered. The thermal overlay stuttered. He blinked. It steadied for a moment. Long enough to see the southeast lane. The followers. The debris walls. The distance.
Fifteen meters.
He didn't fire.
Not yet.
"When he commits his Enhanced to the advance. Not before."
"Why?"
"Because the Enhanced are his structure. The followers are his walls. The Archbishop is the architect. The moment he sends his Enhanced down those lanes—his actual fighters, his actual power—he's not building anymore. He's attacking."
"And that's what you want."
"That's what I need. A builder thinks in minutes. An attacker thinks in seconds. And I have five rounds."
Yue said nothing. Her shoulder stayed against his. Her breath fogged in the minus seventy.
The dawn light grew. Not warmer. Just wider. The gray spread across the eastern sky like a stain. Building C's broken face became visible in detail—the exposed rebar, the cracked concrete, the empty windows where glass had shattered hours ago.
And in the courtyard, the Archbishop's followers kept building. Fifteen meters. Fourteen. Thirteen.
The cold stayed at minus seventy.
They were closer now.
And this time, they weren't waiting.