The city rose slowly in the distance, rooftops and chimneys etched against the pale light of early evening. Lyon sprawled along the riverbanks, bridges arcing over the water like silent sentinels, the streets alive with the distant hum of life. Soufiane led the group carefully along the outskirts, moving through alleys and narrow passageways where shadows provided cover.
"We can't go through the main roads," Soufiane murmured, eyes scanning the rooftops and corners for signs of patrols. "Too many eyes, too much risk. Stick to the alleys. Stick to the shadows. One mistake, and Ayoub's men could spot us immediately."
Amal kept close to him, bandaged arm tucked tight, her eyes darting at every flicker of movement. "I don't like cities," she admitted quietly. "Too many people, too much chance of getting caught."
"Cities hide as much as they reveal," Soufiane said, voice low, almost a growl. "And we're hunting and being hunted at the same time. Remember that."
Abderrazak's bulk moved silently beside Soufiane, hands brushing lightly against walls as they advanced. "Lyon isn't just a stopover," he said, voice steady. "It's a test. Every corner could be a trap. Every passerby could be an informant. Ayoub's reach… it's longer than you think."
Meriem's shoulders tensed. "We're almost halfway across France," she said softly. "If he's following, he could be anywhere behind us. Or ahead."
Soufiane's jaw tightened. "Then we make him guess. We move fast, we leave no trail, and we watch the exits. This city is just a crossroad. Our next moves… will decide the pace for the rest of the journey."
The group ducked into a narrow alley, shadows swallowing them as lanterns flickered from distant windows. Soufiane paused, peering around a corner, knife clenched tightly in his hand. "There," he whispered. "A street leading to the old port district. Minimal traffic at this hour. That's our route."
Mourad's steps were careful, measured, his eyes scanning the buildings as if each wall hid a potential enemy. "I can't believe I'm still walking with you guys," he said quietly. "After everything…"
"You're alive," Soufiane replied, voice firm but calm. "That's what matters. We move together, or we don't move at all."
The city streets narrowed, twisted, and became almost labyrinthine. Soufiane led them down stairways and passageways that climbed sharply, then descended again, each step calculated to avoid exposure. Every shadow seemed to shift, every echo magnified. The faint scent of smoke and baked bread drifted through the alleys, a surreal reminder that life persisted while their own danger grew.
By nightfall, they reached an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the Rhône. Its walls were high, windows shattered long ago, and the doors hung slightly ajar. Soufiane motioned for silence. "Here," he said. "We rest, but lightly. Two hours at most. We scout the bridges at dawn. The Rhine crossing is next. From there… Germany."
Amal sank against a wall, exhaustion evident, but her eyes never left Soufiane. "How do you stay so calm?" she asked, voice hushed.
"Calm isn't the word," he said, voice low. "Focused. Every move we make now matters. Every second we waste could cost lives. Fear is a luxury we don't have."
Abderrazak placed a hand on Mourad's shoulder. "He's right. Rest is temporary. Preparation… that's permanent."
Soufiane crouched by a broken window, watching the faint glow of streetlamps across the water. Somewhere in the city, Ayoub Essouibrat's shadow moved too. Patience. Strategy. Revenge simmered like a quiet fire in the distance, waiting for the moment to strike.
"Tomorrow," Soufiane murmured, "we cross the bridges. We move closer to Germany. And we stay alive."
The night settled over Lyon, quiet except for the distant hum of traffic and the river lapping against stone. Within the warehouse, the group breathed shallowly, alert, waiting. The crossroad had been reached—but the journey, and the reckoning with Ayoub, was far from over.