The baroque splendor of Salzburg felt mocking under the circumstances. Sunlight glinted off the Mirabell Gardens, its manicured lawns and vibrant flowerbeds a stark contrast to the tension radiating from the Crimson Gauntlet. They’d been in and out of safehouses like rats in a maze for the past week, ever since uncovering The Architect's identity through the Viennese society. The Syndicate, alerted to their intrusion, was closing in.