The fog clung to the German ridge, heavy and wet, wrapping the forest in a muted silence that made each step uncertain. Soufiane crouched behind a jagged rock, his eyes scanning the valley below. There it was—the building where his sister was held. Faint movements betrayed the presence of guards, lanterns swinging, shadows darting along the walls.
Amal shifted beside him, her bandaged arm pressed against her side, eyes narrowing. "This isn't just a watch camp," she whispered. "They've set traps. Every exit, every sentry… it's all calculated."
Soufiane nodded. His gaze swept over the routines of the guards: their intervals, the angles they covered, the patterns of movement. Even the smallest sound could give them away. "Watch closely," he said quietly. "Every pause, every glance… there's a pattern. And where there's a pattern, there's a weakness."
Abderrazak leaned back against a tree, gripping his crowbar tightly. "Weakness… or death waiting," he muttered, the weight of reality heavy in his tone.
Meriem adjusted her rifle, keeping it pointed toward the camp while remaining hidden. "We could circle north," she suggested. "But the ground is littered with improvised traps. One wrong step, and it's over."
Soufiane's eyes never left the ridge. Every detail mattered. Every crack of a branch, every rustle of leaves could trigger alarm. Speaking in low tones, he mapped the operation aloud, laying out each step in his mind. "We move silently. We locate her. And we leave. No confrontation unless necessary."
Amal's brow furrowed. "And Ayoub? He could sense our approach… He tracks like a predator."
Soufiane drew a slow breath, fingers pressing against the steel of his knife until his knuckles whitened. "He'll be here eventually. But not yet. When he arrives, we must already be gone. Every trap he set can work for us if we understand his methods."
The fog curled and shifted around them, hiding both them and the camp. The sentries seemed larger in the haze, their lanterns casting moving shadows that twisted across the walls. Soufiane memorized every weak point: a poorly secured gate, a blind spot behind an old shed, a sentry too confident in his route.
"We cannot afford panic," Soufiane said firmly. "One alarm, and it's done. My sister, her children—they cannot pay for mistakes we make."
Amal placed a hand on his shoulder, a silent gesture of trust and solidarity. Abderrazak and Meriem remained tense, eyes following every faint movement. The group formed an invisible perimeter of vigilance, every breath measured, every step deliberate.
As the night deepened, Soufiane felt the weight of the silence around them: the wind, the fog, the sentries, and the looming presence of Ayoub. Each second mattered, every choice was critical. Yet beneath his strategic focus burned an unshakable determination.
"Tomorrow," he murmured, almost to himself, "we move in. We take back what is ours. And we make sure there's still a chance to fight those who come after."
The fog swallowed their position, but Soufiane's eyes never left the camp. When the moment came, every shadow, every trap, every heartbeat would be under his control. The first step toward rescuing his sister was set. Now they only had to wait for the right moment… and strike.