The weeks following Atlacoya's visit were deceptively quiet, like the stillness before an earthquake—something Ollin, bearer of the name 7-Movement, recognized with grim irony. Álvaro had managed to negotiate three days in Tacuba, four at home, a compromise that left him perpetually exhausted but present. His presence changed the house's atmosphere. The oppressive Order Magic saturating the walls seemed to settle, less aggressive, as if even blessed geometry recognized the authority of a father protecting his home. But Ollin knew better. The countdown had started. He spent his days in a careful performance of normalcy: playing with wooden toys, helping his mother with simple chores, reciting his catechism lessons with the earnestness expected of "Miguel, the administrator's prodigious son." But every night, when his parents slept, he sat in the darkness of his room, activating his Eyes of the Fifth Sun, studying the magical topology of Tlatelolco. From his elevated vantage point