FADE IN: EXT. KUNSTHISTORISCHES MUSEUM, VIENNA, NIGHT Snow falls on the Maria Theresien Platz. Light and silence. The museum rises from the square like a cathedral carved from imperial ambition, its windows glowing amber behind iron shutters. A tram bell rings somewhere in the city. Then the sound fades to nothing. On the roof, a shadow moves. Barely there. A figure in matte black crouches beside a ventilation intake, studying it the way a surgeon studies an incision point. MAREN VOSS, 32, pulls a leather tool roll from inside her jacket. The leather is creased, darkened by years of handling. She unrolls it on the roof surface and selects a custom screwdriver without looking, her fingers finding it by memory. Four turns. The intake grate comes free. She sets it down without a sound and peers into the shaft below. Darkness. She clips a thin cable to the roof edge, wraps it once around her gloved hand, tests it with her full weight. She descends into the building. INT. KUNSTHISTORISCHES MUSEUM, VENTILATION SYSTEM, CONTINUOUS