The floor quaked under us, every rumble carrying the weight of war. Alarms screamed overhead, shrill and unrelenting, while the acrid scent of smoke thickened the air. My ears still rang from gunfire, but Alejandro’s grip was steady, his arm dragging me through the wreckage as though the chaos didn’t touch him. His eyes were locked on the skyline beyond the fractured glass.

Madrid burned with light. Not flames, not yet, but headlights—dozens of black SUVs cutting across the avenues, ...