The humid Delhi air hit Nikolay like a physical force the moment he stepped off the private jet. It was a thick, oppressive blanket, a stark contrast to the crisp, blood-scented chill of the alley he'd left behind. The hangar hummed with muted activity, but Nikolay moved through it like a ghost, his mind already shifting gears. Alex was waiting, a tablet in her hand.

"Briefing," she said, her voice cutting through the distant rumble of a landing plane. She led him to a small, sterile office within the hangar complex. The room was spartan, a table, a few chairs, and a large monitor displaying a grainy satellite image of an old, crumbling warehouse.