The city awoke slowly under a gray sky, mist curling around the rooftops and cobblestones. Soufiane led the group through back alleys and narrow streets, each step careful, silent, measured. Berlin was alive with the hum of early morning: trams clanged distantly, shop shutters rattled in the wind, and a faint murmur of voices drifted from cafés opening their doors.
But for Soufiane and his team, the noise was background—irrelevant. Every shadow, every figure, every flicker of movement could be a threat. Amal adjusted her bandages, checking the sling that held her arm close, while Meriem's fingers brushed her rifle nervously. Mourad trailed slightly behind, head down, but his eyes scanned constantly, taking in everything.
They reached the district Amal had marked on the map: a labyrinth of narrow streets, dotted with cafés and small businesses that hid underground networks and contacts. Soufiane paused, crouched behind a low wall, scanning the intersection. "We split into pairs," he whispered, voice low and urgent. "Abderrazak and I take the north streets. Amal and Meriem cover the south. Keep your eyes open. Report back in twenty minutes."
The team nodded, tension taut in their shoulders. Even the simplest movements were charged with danger: Ayoub's shadow could reach them even here. Soufiane's mind ran through every contingency, every possible escape, every trap they might encounter. He had no illusions: one misstep could undo everything.
Abderrazak and Soufiane moved silently, slipping into alleys, watching for signs, listening for whispers of information. At a corner, a man leaned against a wall, flicking ashes from a cigarette. Soufiane's sharp eyes caught a subtle glint: a tattoo on his wrist, one that matched a network symbol they had relied on in France.
"Here," Soufiane murmured. He approached carefully, body tense, every sense alert. The man's eyes flicked up, wary but curious. Soufiane's voice was steady, measured. "I need information. About someone held here—her name is Lina Mouaaouia. You know her?"
The man hesitated, then shook his head subtly, lips pressing into a thin line. "Maybe… maybe I've heard things," he said quietly, glancing around. "She's moved. Not here anymore. North, near the old train depot. That's all I know."
Soufiane nodded, noting the direction. Even the smallest clue was vital. "Thank you," he said, voice low. No time for gratitude, no time for hesitation. They had to move, to verify, to continue the hunt.
Meanwhile, Amal and Meriem had approached a small café tucked between two buildings. A young woman behind the counter recognized a subtle signal: the network sign Soufiane had taught them. "You're looking for someone," she said softly, leaning closer. "I've heard whispers—an aunt, two children. Taken from the outskirts of Hamburg, now moved closer to Hanover. If you're fast, you might catch them before they're moved again."
The information hit Soufiane's mind like a spark. Hanover. The distance was significant, but at least it was a lead. He mentally mapped routes, escape paths, and contingencies. Ayoub could not be far behind; the network must be used with precision.
The team regrouped at a quiet corner, faces taut with tension. Soufiane's dark eyes swept over them. "We have our leads. Lina is north, possibly Hanover. We move carefully, step by step. And we stay alert—Ayoub is patient. He's waiting for a chance to strike. If he knows we're here, we cannot afford mistakes."
Meriem swallowed hard. "We're close," she said quietly, almost to herself. "We can feel it."
Soufiane's jaw tightened. "Close, yes. But nothing is won yet. We have to gather, confirm, and prepare. The moment we act, we must strike decisively."
Outside, Berlin continued its indifferent rhythm. Trams clattered, cyclists passed, and pedestrians moved without awareness of the small, determined group weaving through their streets. For Soufiane and his team, every moment was a countdown, every step a risk.
By nightfall, the first phase was complete: information gathered, leads confirmed, and their next moves plotted. Hanover awaited, along with the hope of finding Lina and the children, and the ever-present shadow of Ayoub Essouibrat, stalking silently, waiting for a chance to turn the hunt back on them.
Soufiane's gaze hardened as he checked the map one last time. "We move at first light," he said, voice sharp and unwavering. "And this time, we don't fail. Not her, not the children, not ourselves."
The city exhaled, unaware, but the pulse of danger throbbed in every corner. And in the hearts of Soufiane's group, resolve burned brighter than ever: the hunt had only just begun.