She tells Costa.

The warehouse smelled of saltpeter and neglect—a setting that no longer intimidated her as it had the first time. Under the flickering light of a single bulb, Sub-officer Costa was nothing more than another piece on the board that Magi was beginning to dominate.

"Talk, Rojas. And this time, forget the lies," Costa’s voice cut through the air. "Who is Lorenzo Fiore?"

Magi didn’t flinch. She stood tall, with the coldness she had cultivated in the sheets of the Versailles and at the Ébano parties. The "Magda" facade didn’t crack; it simply adjusted to face her superior.

"He’s an agent," Magi replied, her voice icy and precise. "European Intelligence. He’s on Adrián’s trail for money laundering and influence peddling."

Costa’s face shifted from fury to a lethal reassessment. Her eyes shined with the hunger of someone seeing a golden opportunity.

"Did he reveal himself?" she asked urgently.

"At the hotel," Magi nodded, a smile barely brushing her lips. "He tried to 'save' me. Offered me protection in exchange for betraying Soler."

"Brilliant!" Costa exclaimed, and this time there was a note of twisted respect in her voice. "It could have been a disaster, but it’s our best move. What do you want, Rojas? To be the mistress of a mobster whose days are numbered? Or to be the woman who hands him over on a silver platter and keeps the glory?"

Magi stared at her. Costa’s concept of "glory" felt almost as foreign as the academy’s "ethics," but power... power was a language she understood.

"Collaborate with him?" Magi proposed, measuring the weight of the phrase.

"It’s the only way," Costa declared. "You will be the bridge. Lorenzo has the international intelligence; we have the local network. Together, Soler will have no escape. But this is done under my orders. Every message to Lorenzo goes through me. Am I clear?"

Magi nodded, but deep down she knew that Costa’s control was an illusion. She was the one in bed with Soler and at the table with Lorenzo. She was the true axis of the conspiracy. She didn't feel like she was swapping one master for two; she felt like the double agent who would soon have both sides in the palm of her hand.

"How do I contact him?" she asked, reaching out her hand with confidence.

Costa handed her a red burner phone.

"He has the number. The code is: 'We need to talk about contemporary art.' He’ll set the meeting. I’ll be watching from the shadows." Costa pointed a finger at her. "This is a weapon, Rojas. Don’t let it go off in your own face."

Magi gripped the red phone in her palm. She was no longer the cadet fearing for her life; she was a woman operating in the gray zone, relishing the adrenaline of betraying one powerful man to ally with another, all under the gaze of a boss who believed she could still control her.

As she left the warehouse, the city air no longer felt heavy, but electrifying. She was walking through a battlefield she had helped design. She had Adrián Soler at her back, Lorenzo Fiore in her sights, and Costa in her pocket. Magi had never felt more alive.