Milan — Abandoned railway depot
The moment had come.
Enzo signaled with his hand: three, two, one.
At the far left end of the warehouse, one of the resistance groups threw a homemade smoke bomb.
A dry pop echoed through the metallic walls.
Thick smoke spread quickly, painting the air gray.
Shouts of confusion erupted from the guards.
Without losing a second, Vera and her small team slipped through the grate, crouching low as they ran between the wreckage.
Vera's eyes scanned the area frantically.
There — behind rusted barbed wire fences and makeshift tents — she spotted it:
The central barrack.
Two guards stood at the entrance — distracted, looking toward the chaos on the other side of the depot.
Vera signaled.
Enzo and another fighter peeled off to the sides, circling the guards like predators in the brush.
Vera moved straight ahead, her heart pounding so loudly it seemed the guards must hear it.
Suddenly, Enzo threw a stone against an old metal barrel.
The deafening clang made both guards spin around, weapons raised.
The gap was open.
Vera darted for the entrance.
Inside, the barrack was even darker and more suffocating.
The stench of mold and sweat was overwhelming.
And then she saw him.
In a corner, shackled with thin chains, thin, battered — but alive.
Luca.
The shock nearly froze her.
Nearly.
She sprinted to him.
— Luca... — she whispered, dropping to her knees at his side.
His eyes fluttered open slowly.
When he recognized her, a weak smile broke across his bruised face.
— I thought... it was over — he murmured.
Vera gripped his hands tightly.
— Not yet, — she said. — Not yet.