The sudden clatter had shattered the rhythm of their plan. Soufiane froze for a fraction of a second, the knife tight in his hand, and the world reduced to shapes of shadow and light. Every sense screamed danger—the metallic scent of fear, the slick sound of rain on cobblestones, the distant barking of a dog that seemed to echo through the building like a warning.
Amal ducked behind the overturned table, her bandaged arm trembling as she tried to steady her breath. Mourad crouched low beside her, eyes darting between the approaching figures and the open corridor. Soufiane scanned, calculating: two inside the room with them, another three converging from the stairs, and the outside silhouette growing larger, moving with unnatural precision. They had been anticipated. Someone had tipped them off.
"Move!" Soufiane hissed, low and sharp, and Abderrazak responded instantly, sliding into the corridor with the ease of muscle and memory. Soufiane's knife flashed under the harsh lamp as he forced the first man back, a precise strike that caught the attacker on the forearm, eliciting a sharp grunt.
The woman near the doorway hesitated, eyes wide as she realized the intruders weren't mere burglars. Soufiane lunged past her, using her shock to his advantage, and slammed the door behind him. Metal clanged as Amal slammed the lock into place, buying them seconds, maybe a minute.
Meriem's voice came from above, tense but steady. "Three on the second floor—two on the stairs—camera sweep in twenty seconds!"
Soufiane didn't answer. There was no time for conversation. He sprinted across the room, grabbing a small bag of essentials they'd prepared for extraction. Mourad followed, his movements hesitant but gaining confidence with every step. Amal covered the rear, knocking over a chair to slow any pursuer, while Abderrazak blocked the corridor exit.
A sudden crash from the staircase confirmed the second wave. Soufiane adjusted quickly, pushing Mourad behind a half-wall, and met the first guard with a combination of force and precision that left the man dazed on the floor. Blood, the coppery scent sharp in the air, mingled with the tension that had wrapped the room tight.
The outside figure had entered the courtyard now, flashlight cutting through the darkness. Soufiane peered through the cracked windowpane. Its beam swung over the alley where Meriem had slipped to the roofline, calculating, waiting for the signal. One wrong move and the extraction would fail entirely.
"Now!" Soufiane's whisper carried authority, and the team moved like clockwork. Amal pulled the hatch cover up just enough for Mourad to slide through. Abderrazak held back the corridor, muscles tensed like steel springs, blocking the advancing guards. Soufiane followed, dragging the bag with essentials, and the two men who had been hit scrambled through after him.
The roofline was slick with rain, the gutter threatening to betray every step. Soufiane reached for Meriem's hand, steadying her as they inched along the edge toward the alley. From below, the guards shouted, their voices cracking with frustration and fury. Shots rang out—non-lethal for now—but the air vibrated with promise of real violence.
They dropped into the alley just as a patrol turned the corner, forcing Soufiane to pivot and duck behind stacked crates. He counted breaths, counted shadows, felt the pulse of the city in his chest. Somewhere ahead, the main street opened up—a path toward the vehicle they had stashed, toward mobility, toward the fragile promise of safety.
"Go! Go!" Soufiane hissed.
One by one, they slipped past the patrols, hearts pounding, soaked in cold and adrenaline. Mourad kept close to Soufiane, his trust implicit, his fear mingled with gratitude. Amal's eyes never left the street, every nerve ready to snap. Meriem followed last, covering the rear, her rifle pressed to her chest, breath shallow.
The city around them was quiet again, almost mocking. A fog rolled in from the river, cloaking the alleyways, granting them the cover they needed. But Soufiane knew this was only temporary. Ayoub Essouibrat's network would stretch further, someone would realize they'd slipped through, and the next confrontation would be inevitable.
And yet, for now, they had achieved the impossible: his sister and the children were one step closer to safety.
Soufiane pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the rhythm of life, the pull of purpose. "We move fast. We can't stop. Not until Germany is behind us, and until we know exactly where the next threat comes from."
Mourad's whisper came then, soft but filled with resolve. "I'm with you. All the way."
Soufiane nodded, letting the rain soak through his jacket, letting the adrenaline sharpen his mind. They had survived the breach, but the city's shadows were patient, and the night was far from over.
Above them, Berlin exhaled into the fog, unaware of the storm that had just passed through its alleys—and of the war that had already begun.