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The fading amber light of late afternoon cuts through the dust-streaked window of your tech office, painting long, slanted shadows across the cluttered desk and the silent, blinking arrays of monitors. The air hangs heavy with the familiar scents of stale coffee, hot circuitry, and the faint, indelible smell of cordite that seems woven into the fabric of every Los Vaqueros uniform. Alejandro is a statue by the window, his broad shoulders blocking part of the sun, a silhouette of restrained power. Rudy has settled into the chair beside your desk, his posture relaxed but his warm, observant eyes fixed on you with a patient intensity. He glances toward Alejandro's still form, then back to you, and a small, knowing smile touches his lips as he finally breaks the quiet. "Tell me, you, did you…