The city at night was a maze of dim streets and shuttered windows, every corner concealing a potential threat. Soufiane moved like a shadow, his dark eyes scanning the surroundings, every sense alert. The safehouse behind them was secure for the moment, but they couldn't linger. Berlin had its own rhythm, one that demanded caution and precision.
Amal followed closely, her bandaged arm pressed against her body. "Are you sure your contacts are reliable?" she asked, voice low, almost swallowed by the drizzle.
"They have to be," Soufiane replied, his gaze fixed on a narrow alley ahead. "If they weren't, we wouldn't be here. But trust doesn't mean naivety. We watch, we listen, and we move only when the path is clear."
Abderrazak brought up the rear, his bulk covering their movement. He paused at a corner, hand resting on the crowbar strapped to his back. "There are patrols tonight," he whispered. "More than usual. Something's stirring."
Soufiane nodded, adjusting the hood over his head. "Good. That makes observation easier. Everyone thinks the streets are quiet—they forget the city never sleeps. We use that to our advantage."
They reached a small café on the outskirts of the district, shuttered and empty, but familiar to Soufiane. Inside, a single lamp flickered, illuminating a man hunched over a newspaper. The man looked up, eyes sharp and calculating, then nodded as if expecting them.
"You have news?" Soufiane asked without preamble.
The man leaned closer. "Your sister is being moved soon. She's held in a safe location, under constant watch. But there's chatter about a transfer. If we act quickly, you could intercept her before they realize anyone is following."
Mourad, now rested and alert, stepped forward. "And the child? Any clue where he is?"
The man hesitated, glancing at Soufiane. "There are whispers—someone took him north, across the border to the Netherlands. They're using false identities, moving him between locations. You'll need more than brute force to find him. Intelligence, subtlety, patience."
Soufiane's jaw tightened, the fire in his eyes undimmed. "Understood. First, my sister. Then, we unravel the rest."
They left the café, blending back into the wet streets. Each step brought them closer to the first major challenge in Berlin: locating the safehouse, gauging its defenses, and preparing a strategy that wouldn't risk the woman's life. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, turning the cobblestones slick, the reflections of streetlamps shimmering like distant stars on the ground.
Meriem, following Soufiane's lead, whispered, "We'll need observation points, routes in and out, contingencies if they detect us."
"Yes," Soufiane agreed. "We need to know everything before we move. One wrong choice, and we lose her—or worse, we alert Ayoub's network. He's still alive. He's patient. He's everywhere. We can't underestimate him."
Hours passed as they surveyed the streets, noting the guard shifts, the traffic patterns, and the movement of shadows that could be eyes on them. Every moment in Berlin heightened the tension—every sound amplified, every light suspicious. Soufiane's mind worked faster than the drizzle could fall, calculating risks, exit strategies, and contingencies for every possible scenario.
Finally, he gathered the group under the cover of an archway. "Tomorrow, we pick our first point of approach," he said. "We need eyes on the safehouse without being seen. We need patience. Precision. And we need to prepare for what we might find inside—because this isn't just about extraction. It's about understanding the network, the people who hold her, and the trail that could lead us to my son in the Netherlands."
The group nodded, understanding the gravity. Every step forward in Berlin carried risk, but every piece of information brought them closer to family. Outside, the city's shadows deepened, but inside them, resolve burned brighter than any streetlamp.
Soufiane pressed his hand against the wall, eyes narrowing, lips tight. "Berlin is ours to map, ours to navigate. But the moment we act, the game changes. We must be ready for everything. And nothing—not rain, not shadows, not enemies—will stop us from getting her back."
The night stretched on, every hour sharpening their senses, their patience, their resolve. Berlin's streets whispered secrets, and Soufiane was ready to listen, strike, and reclaim what had been taken.