They arrived in Casablanca on forged passports and matching wedding rings.
The driver, paid in cash, said nothing during the hour-long ride from the airport to the Medina. Zaid kept one hand on the window and the other on the pistol hidden under his jacket. Lina kept her hands folded in her lap, trying to ignore the way her stomach twisted every time Zaid glanced at her like she was still his.
Outside, the city moved in a haze of horns, call to prayer, and gold-washed sunset.
"Why Casablanca?" Lina asked.
"It's neutral. Salim is hosting a private auction here. Arms, intelligence, names. We need to know what Karim's involved in."
Lina didn't reply. She'd spent the past two nights studying the files Zaid gave her—coded lists, blackmail footage, intercepted messages. All of it leading back to her brother.
She was starting to wonder if Karim had ever been the man she remembered, or just the mask he wore for her.
The auction was in a restored riad on the edge of the city—invitation-only. Zaid had acquired them both fake identities as newlywed Lebanese diplomats. Lina wore a floor-length red dress with a slit like a sharpened edge. Zaid wore black.
She hated how good they looked together.
Inside, the riad glowed with wealth—crystal lights, thick velvet curtains, people speaking in languages Lina only half-recognized. Oil executives, ex-military, shadow brokers, and a few people she'd once tried to expose in her reporting.
They fit in too well.
Zaid leaned close to her ear. "Stay close. Smile. And if anything goes wrong, go for the exit near the fountain."
She smiled for the room, not for him.
They navigated through whispers and champagne until they reached the central courtyard. A silver-haired man approached them—Arab, tall, eyes cold like polished steel.
"Welcome," he said with a warm voice that didn't reach his eyes. "You must be Mr. and Mrs. Khoury."
Zaid nodded. "An honor, Mr. Asfar."
Salim Asfar smiled.
Lina nearly choked.
She had imagined monsters. This one wore a silk suit and charm like cologne.
Salim kissed her hand. "Your wife is stunning, Rami."
Lina didn't flinch. "I know."
It was a gamble. Calling him by his real name.
But Salim only smiled wider.
Later that night, in their private room above the riad, Lina stripped off the red dress and stared at herself in the mirror. Zaid stood behind her, shirtless again, bruises forming where someone had "greeted" him a little too hard in the courtyard.
"You did well," he said, his voice low.
She turned, searching his face. "Do you really think we'll find Karim?"
Zaid looked down. "Yes. But not the one you remember."
Lina touched his cheek.
"Then maybe I'll stop remembering him."
She kissed him—desperate, uncertain. Not because she forgave him.
Because she didn't know if they'd survive tomorrow.