The morning air clung to Carlos Díaz like damp wool as he stepped out of his battered VW Beetle in the Ajusco Park parking lot. The hills surrounding Mexico City were quiet except for the distant chirping of cicadas and the low hum of wind. Carlos adjusted the strap of his camera bag and checked his watch—6:47 a.m. The journalist was late.He leaned back into the car, flipping through his notepad, when something strange caught his eye through the rearview mirror. A faint yellow-orange hue painted the valley below, pulsating gently like a heartbeat. At first, he assumed it was