At 3:47 in the morning, twelve doors opened at exactly the same second.Jax stood in the stairwell of a converted textile warehouse on the east docks, one hand raised, three fingers folded down in silence. Behind him, six operators in unmarked tactical gear breathed slowly and even, rifles low, eyes on the door frame ahead. Through his earpiece, ten other teams reported the same posture, the same stillness, scattered across the city like pieces on a board only he could see whole."All teams," he said quietly. "On my mark."He lowered the last finger.The door didn't so much break as disappear, hinges gone before the sound of the breach reached anyone still asleep inside. Jax moved through first, quick and unhurried at once, the way a man moves when he has already rehearsed every version of what might go wrong. A guard came around the corner reaching for a pistol tucked in his waistband and found himself on the floor before his hand closed around the grip, disarmed by an old man in a g