The night in Hanover was thick, fog curling around streetlights and the edges of industrial warehouses. Soufiane's group moved cautiously along the outskirts, every sense alert. The city's hum was faint—trucks, distant horns, and the occasional barking dog—but otherwise, it was empty, perfect for their approach.
Soufiane crouched behind a low concrete wall, eyes fixed on the warehouse complex ahead. "This is it," he whispered, barely moving his lips. "Lina and the children are inside. Guards in constant rotation. One wrong step, and they vanish again."
Amal checked her sling, every bandage tight and secure. "We've got two entrances," she said, pointing toward a side gate and a loading dock. "Both have patrols. The side gate is quieter, but narrower. The dock is open, but the shadows are deeper."
Abderrazak grunted. "We go side gate. Less exposure. I can handle interference if needed."
Meriem swallowed hard, gripping her rifle tighter. "And Ayoub? He might still be tracking us."
Soufiane shook his head slowly. "Not here. He's elsewhere for now. But stay sharp. Fear can appear anywhere."
The group advanced silently, moving from shadow to shadow. Each step was calculated, each movement deliberate. The air smelled faintly of oil and rust, a stark reminder of the industrial zone they navigated.
At the side gate, Soufiane crouched low, listening. Two guards paced, rifles slung loosely but eyes sharp. He counted their steps, memorized the pattern, and nodded to Abderrazak. The tall man moved first, creating a diversion near a pile of crates. A clatter echoed, drawing the guards' attention.
Now. Soufiane slipped through the gate, Amal and Meriem following, shadows among shadows. The warehouse loomed, dark and cavernous, crates stacked in precise rows. From above, faint light spilled from a second-floor window. Inside, movement—soft, desperate.
Soufiane's heart tightened as he spotted them: Lina and two children, bound and trembling. Guards stood at intervals, rifles resting on shoulders, yet unaware of the ghosts moving toward them.
"Quiet," Soufiane hissed. He gestured, splitting the team. Amal took the rear, ready to neutralize anyone entering from behind. Meriem moved left, rifle steady, while Abderrazak positioned near the front.
Soufiane approached Lina first, eyes locking with hers. Relief flickered across her face. "Soufiane…" she whispered. "You found me."
"No time," he murmured, cutting her bonds swiftly. "We move now. Stay low, follow my lead."
The children clung to their mother, fear mixing with relief. Soufiane's gaze swept the room. A single guard remained near the rear; Abderrazak had him covered, muscles tensed, ready to act.
Then a distant noise—metal scraping concrete. A guard from the other side, back from patrol, rounding the corner. Amal's hand shot out, and the man froze, stunned by the precision of her strike.
"Move!" Soufiane barked. Lina led the children, Soufiane just behind, eyes scanning every corner. Shadows shifted, crates loomed, and the sound of distant engines hinted at vehicles waiting outside.
The group emerged into the cool night, breath visible in the fog. Hanover's streets stretched ahead, empty but treacherous. Each step carried them closer to safety, but the sense of pursuit lingered, a shadow behind every corner.
Soufiane's hand rested briefly on Lina's shoulder. "We're not safe yet," he said, voice low but firm. "We move north—toward the safehouse. Then we plan for the next step. Holland awaits."
The group melted into darkness, carrying the weight of relief, fear, and determination. Tonight, they had regained what they had lost. But tomorrow, the search for the next piece of Soufiane's family would begin.