Chapter 6: Welcome to Paris

William's Apartment

London

15 November 2003

06:35

Kurtis Trent

As they left the dimly lit room behind, a surge of anticipation mingled with the faint light of dawn. The world outside was waking up, painted in hues of soft gold and lavender. Birds twittered in the distance, their cheerful songs a stark contrast to the gravity of the task that lay ahead.

Their steps were purposeful, echoing down the corridor as they navigated through the twists and turns. Each footfall seemed to reinforce their bond, a connection that had been forged not only through blood but through a shared journey of heartache and revelation. The memories of their childhood, the warmth of their mother's laughter, and the darkness that was always upon them – all were woven into the fabric of their lives, shaping them into the men they had become.

"We must gather all our resources," Kurtis declared, shattering the silence as they arrived at the corridor's end. His voice exuded determination, a mirror of the unwavering conviction that had propelled them this far.

"Larry informed me via text; the plane awaits us outside London," Wiliam reported, stowing his phone in his pocket.

"Steph's information, combined with our current data, can guide us," Kurtis supplemented.

William nodded, silently affirming their shared purpose. The gravity of their mission bore down on them, a burden they accepted willingly, understanding they stood on the brink of reshaping the trajectory of their lives.

The city streets greeted them with a gentle breeze, carrying the scents of morning dew and distant possibilities. It was a reminder that life continued to move forward, even as they delved deeper into a past that refused to stay buried. Their strides were aligned, a testament to their unity as they ventured toward a future that was as uncertain as it was promising.

As the two brothers revved their motorbikes, a palpable sense of anticipation coursed through their veins, mingling with the morning chill that hung in the air. The bustling streets of London gradually faded behind them, replaced by the open road that stretched ahead, leading them toward the adventure of a lifetime.

The countryside unfolded around them like a living tapestry painted with hues of green and gold. The hedgerows danced in the gentle breeze, and the distant hills undulated like slumbering giants under the azure sky. The scent of dew-kissed grass enveloped them, and the distant chirping of birds created a melodic backdrop to their journey. Each passing mile carried them farther from familiarity, awakening a mix of excitement and uncertainty.

Leaving behind the bustling cityscape, they ventured onto a tranquil lane that led them to a small airstrip. The gentle morning sun bathed the surroundings in a warm, golden hue, stretching shadows across the landscape as the world welcomed the tender dawn. Parked neatly in a row, their motorcycles waited while they strolled together toward the airplane that stood poised. Their footsteps resonated with determination against the backdrop of the awakening day.

The aircraft, a sleek metallic marvel, stood prepared with wings spread wide, seemingly eager to carry its passengers into the skies. Its engines emitted a low hum, a symphony of potential energy on the brink of release. The two brothers exchanged meaningful glances, their eyes mirroring a blend of excitement and anticipation. This was no ordinary plane they were about to board; it was a vessel of dreams and aspirations, propelling them toward the heart of another captivating city.

The plane workers took charge of their bikes, deftly loading them into the cargo hold.

As they climbed the steps onto the aircraft, the morning sun's warmth caressed their skin—a comforting embrace before their journey. With a powerful roar, the engines sprung to life, their sound echoing like a proclamation of the daring expedition underway. The plane taxied onto the runway, accelerating as if echoing the adventurers' heartbeats aboard.

With a gentle shudder, the wheels left the ground, and the landscape below fell away, a patchwork quilt of fields and rivers giving way to the sprawling canvas of the world. Inside the plane, their hearts mirrored the rhythm of the engines – a mixture of trepidation for the unknown, anticipation for the experiences yet to unfold, and a quiet thrill that whispered of the extraordinary journey ahead.

Through the windows, they watched as London's urban sprawl transformed into the tranquil English Channel, its waters glistening under the mid-morning sun. The city of Paris awaited them, a realm of art, culture, and history, promising new connections and memories. As the plane soared higher, the emotions within them swirled like the winds outside, a heady concoction of emotions that painted their adventure with vibrant strokes of life.


Cafe Metro

Paris

15 November 2003

09:20

Kurtis Trent

As the plane touched down with a judder, the trio of determined individuals wasted no time in springing into action. Retrieving their bikes efficiently, they embarked on the next phase of their mission. The sun was in the process of setting, casting a rich, golden glow that bathed the quiet city streets in a warm embrace. The entire atmosphere seemed to hold its breath, the usual sounds of bustling life replaced with an eerie hush. Gone were the distant chatter of pedestrians and the intermittent honking of car horns. Even the fragrant aroma of food from nearby street vendors, which usually mingled in a vibrant urban symphony, was conspicuously absent.

Paris, once a vibrant hub of activity, now resembled a ghost town. The two brothers, Kurtis and William, understood the reason behind this unusual silence. Fear had gripped the city's heart due to the gruesome spree of killings orchestrated by the monstrous Cabal. People were staying indoors, cowering from the threat that lurked in the shadows. But Kurtis knew there was more to the story; he was convinced that the Cabal was responsible for the killings, even as others attributed them to the terrifying "monsterum."

Arriving at the quaint cafe, Kurtis and William settled into wrought-iron chairs that surrounded a weathered wooden table. The years of use had left the table's surface slightly uneven, a testament to the countless conversations held here. The interior of the cafe enveloped them in a cocoon of familiarity and warmth. The air was redolent with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and a gentle jazz melody played softly from hidden speakers, contributing to the intimate ambiance. The mosaic-tiled floor bore the marks of time, and vintage posters adorned the walls, hinting at the cafe's history and the stories it had witnessed.

Around this table, the brothers' determination took tangible form. Maps sprawled across its surface like unexplored lands awaiting discovery. The bluish glow of laptop screens illuminated their faces, casting a sharp contrast against the cafe's sepia-toned glow. Their sleek communication devices were meticulously arranged, a visual representation of the meticulous planning that had brought them this far.

Leaning in, Kurtis's gaze was fixated on the illuminated screens, his demeanor a mixture of focus and urgency. His voice was a low rumble, carrying with it a blend of suspicion and the need for action. He swiveled the laptop to face William, revealing a document overflowing with information about artifact distribution and their current whereabouts.

William's brow furrowed deeper as his eyes scanned the document. His finger traced his name on the list of engraving protectors, his disbelief palpable. "But why would Vasiley involve himself in something like this?" His voice held a note of incredulity. "And why keep one engraving?"

A contemplative silence settled as they grappled with the implications. Reclaiming the laptop, Kurtis's gaze remained fixed on the map. "We'll have to ask Vasiley that question. But right now, we need those engravings." His finger landed with purpose on a specific point on the map, underscoring their predicament. "We've managed to locate the paintings, but without those engravings..."

William's voice softened, carrying a hint of worry. "Without them, we won't have the exact coordinates for the paintings."

Determination etched deep lines on Kurtis's face as he asserted, "That's why we must reach von Croy before Eckhardt does, and secure those engravings." His eyes swept over the map, calculating their next move. "Eckhardt will undoubtedly set his sights on the painting here in Paris."

Their conversation took a new turn, introducing a fresh layer of concern. "And what about the Sleeper?" William's gaze met Kurtis's, mirroring his brother's apprehension.

With a reassuring nod, Kurtis responded, "I've been in touch with Dave. He's overseeing the site, and they've successfully thwarted Cabal members attempting to breach the tomb's protection." The gravity of their responsibilities echoed in his voice.

William's resolve solidified. "Perhaps I should join Dave in guarding the tomb."

A firm hand on William's shoulder conveyed both support and practicality as Kurtis spoke. "Once we've dealt with Eckhardt and rescued Werner, you can focus on safeguarding the tomb."


Werner's Apartment

Paris

16 November 2003

19:15

Lara Croft

Late at night, the city of Paris exhaled a quiet serenity. Lara, her weary eyes tracing the subdued glow of streetlights, rode in a cab that cut through the hushed streets. The silence was unnerving, an unexpected deviation from the bustling Paris she had envisioned. Paris, the renowned city of love and allure, was supposed to be bustling with life, tourists weaving their stories among the iconic landmarks. Yet, tonight, it seemed the city had withdrawn into itself, wrapped in a shroud of stillness that bordered on eerie.

From the back seat, Lara's gaze danced across the empty sidewalks, her mind grappling with the dissonance between her expectations and reality. She couldn't help but voice her bewilderment, breaking the silence like a fragile whisper. "Sorry, what's going on around here?" Her words hung suspended in the air, tinged with a mixture of curiosity and unease.

Meeting her gaze through the rearview mirror, the cab driver's eyes bore the weight of a city's collective concern. A heavy sigh escaped his lips, carrying the weight of a world burdened by dark news. "Lady, have you watched the news lately?" His tone held a weariness that matched the city's stillness.

Lara's admission of being preoccupied with her own affairs masked a growing apprehension. The cab driver's next words cut through the night air, plunging her further into a reality she had unknowingly stepped into. "Well, there have been very grotesque murders lately. The press calls it the Monstrum killer." Each syllable seemed to drip with the gravity of the situation. "This person kills you, rips your guts out, and leaves weird symbols on the walls before they leave." The details were chilling, a morbid symphony that played on the strings of her imagination.

"They!" Lara asked bit surprised at the word he used.

"Look, lady, not my business," the cab driver's voice wavered between resignation and desperation. "I do my job and hope and pray they leave me alone." As the cab slid to a halt, the silence was replaced by the din of urban life, a cruel contrast to the quietude that had set the scene. "We've arrived. Good luck."

"Thanks," Lara's voice carried gratitude, but her eyes held a steely resolve. She paid the fare, her fingers brushing the cool metal of coins, and stepped out onto the rain-slicked pavement. The cab's taillights faded into the night, leaving her standing alone, a solitary figure amid the city's slumber.

Lara's head shook as if trying to dispel the chill that had settled in her bones. Her thoughts swirled with an amalgamation of skepticism and bravado. "I've seen too many things in my life to be scared of a silly man trying to kill people for fun." The mantra reverberated in her mind, a self-assurance that contrasted with the unsettling narrative she had just encountered.

Now standing before the Chantell building, Lara's gaze swept over the elegant façade. The structure, still standing strong, offered no hints of the enigma that had cast its shadow over the city. Droplets of rain began to fall, a melancholic accompaniment to her thoughts. She ascended the weathered steps, each footfall resonating with a determination that bordered on recklessness. With a deep breath, she crossed the threshold into the building's interior.

The lobby mirrored the streets outside – vacant and devoid of life. The stillness seemed to echo through the walls, amplifying the hollow feeling that had taken root within her chest. The incongruity of her presence in this stillness was palpable as if the building itself held its breath.

In the confined space of the elevator, Lara's fingers hovered over the buttons, a moment of hesitation betraying the stoic facade she presented to the world. The ascent was marked by the hum of machinery, a stark contrast to the silence that had settled around her. The doors slid open, revealing a dimly lit corridor that stretched into the distance like a tunnel into uncertainty.

With measured steps, Lara traversed the corridor. Her emotions played a discordant symphony within her – curiosity, anxiety, determination – each note blending into the next. Her gloved hand rose, knuckles rapping against the door that marked her destination. The sound hung in the air like a heartbeat, the culmination of a journey that had begun with a quiet cab ride through a city transformed by shadows.

"Who is it?" Werner's voice came from the other side, an undercurrent of unease lacing his words. It was as if he stood on the precipice of something ominous, and the quiver in his tone betrayed a fear that had taken root.

Lara's heartbeat quickened, sensing the tremor in his voice. She hesitated, the moment hanging suspended in the air like a lingering doubt. "It's Lara," her voice, while steady, held a softness that masked the memories that flooded her mind.

With a creak, the door swung open, revealing the man who had once been her friend and mentor. Werner's face, etched with lines that told of the burdens he bore, greeted her. An unspoken tension lingered between them as if the passage of time hadn't dulled the edges of their history.

Werner's urgency was palpable as he ushered her into the dimly lit apartment, the door shutting behind her like a seal on their unspoken pact. The chair by the circular window seemed to beckon her, a silent invitation to step into a narrative that had long been dormant. As she settled into the chair, her gaze met Werner's, a silence that was heavy with unspoken words stretching between them.

But silence, as it often does, was eventually broken. Lara's resolve surged, a testament to her unwillingness to linger in a situation she would rather avoid. "What's this all about, Werner?" Her words were a catalyst, shattering the veneer of quietude that had blanketed the room.

Werner's gaze seemed to falter for a moment, his eyes speaking volumes that his words couldn't convey. "Help me, Lara. I need you to get something for me," he admitted, his hands betraying the turmoil within.

Lara leaned in, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of skepticism and caution. "Go on," she prompted, her tone a mere facade veiling her reluctance.

Their gazes held like two chess players engaged in a silent match of wills. "I'm tracking five Obscura paintings for a client called Eckhardt," Werner began, his voice threading with an undercurrent of bitterness. "But he's a psychopath." Lara could discern the bitterness, the weight of a history of manipulation and deceit.

Inwardly, Lara's skepticism deepened, the scars of past betrayals fresh in her mind. "Why should I care?" Her words were laced with a detachment that matched her intentions – to sever ties and escape this tangled web.

Werner's urgency took on a physical form as he stood, his body language mirroring the gravity of his plea. "Because I'm being stalked," he confessed, a hint of desperation tinging his words. His gesture towards the window carried a weight that the glass could never bear. "People are dying out there."

The world outside seemed to press upon the windowpane as if the city itself held its breath. Lara's patience waned, a frustration kindling within her. "Handle it, Werner!" Her words were a brushstroke of defiance, a response to a history of being used and discarded.

Desperation painted Werner's actions as he raised his hands, a plea to halt her impending departure. "Lara, please." The paper he held trembled in his grip, a plea that mingled with the shadows of their shared history. The paper changed hands and transferred from his trembling fingers to hers. "Look, go and see this woman, Carvier. She can help."

The room seemed to tighten around Lara, an invisible force urging her to leave. Yet, the past held its grip, and Werner's hand on her arm halted her retreat. The clash was brief, her motions swift as she asserted her will. The chair held Werner captive, a juxtaposition of their roles from years ago.

"Egypt, Werner," Lara's voice was a whisper that seethed with a cacophony of unresolved emotions. The proximity was intimate, her words slicing through the air like the unforgiving edge of a blade. "You walked away and left me."

The atmosphere shifted as Werner's emotions surged, and a gun materialized in his trembling hand. The confrontation escalated, and Lara's actions are quick and instinctive. The report of gunfire resounded like a symphony of chaos, darkness swallowing her vision.

Gunshots, reverberating like a haunting refrain.

In the aftermath, Lara approached Werner's lifeless form, the weight of finality sinking in. His pulseless neck was the verdict, confirming the absence of life. Her arms cradled him, a gesture that echoed with echoes of what could have been, what once was. Thunder rumbled, a symphony of nature joining the elegy that played in her heart.

"Now I won't know if you would have said sorry," Lara's voice carried the weight of words unsaid. A kiss graced his forehead, a bittersweet farewell that left her with the residue of blood on her lips and hands.

Did I kill Werner?

"The last thing I remember is him pointing a gun at me, gunfire, and then I blacked out," Lara's words hung in the air, a reflection of the disarray that now enveloped her mind.

Outside, sirens wailed like a mournful cry, the world's response to the turmoil within. The path ahead was clear – a dance with the shadows, a battle against her own history, as she ventured into the storm to clear her name.


Werner's Apartment

Paris

16 November 2003

20:25

Kurtis Trent

Under the cloak of night, Kurtis and William arrived at the Chantel building, their bikes concealed in the shadows. Observing with intent gazes, they watched as Eckhardt, a man entrenched in the enigma of their mission, entered the building's confines.

"Brother," William's voice was a hushed whisper, his finger extending to point at Eckhardt's retreating figure.

Kurtis, his demeanor composed, nodded in response. "Go with the plan." His words carried the weight of strategy, a well-thought-out dance in the theater of shadows. His gaze lingered on the entrance that had swallowed Eckhardt, a doorway to the mysteries that awaited within. "You go through the back and block him or anyone from his Cabal. I'm taking the front door."

William nodded, an unspoken understanding cementing their roles. Stealthily, he slipped away to fulfill his designated task, slipping into the dim recesses of the building's rear. Kurtis, his purpose etched onto his every movement, melded into the embracing darkness, his form becoming one with the shadows that painted the building's facade.

A door yielded to Kurtis's skilled touch, granting him access to the building's interior. His footsteps, muffled by the gravity of his purpose, carried him forward. Yet, as his eyes fell upon the elevator's sealed doors, a twinge of frustration gripped him. He had just missed Eckhardt's ascent, the echo of an opportunity slipping through his fingers.

Determination fueled Kurtis's steps as he embarked upon the ascent through the staircase. The urgency within him pulsed, synchronized with the rhythm of his footfalls. The fourth floor beckoned an elusive destination that promised answers. However, the hallway's stillness was shattered by the percussive crescendo of gunshots, a symphony of danger echoing from afar.

In the midst of chaos, Eckhardt emerged from a room, a malevolent figure materializing in the shadows. Kurtis's instincts guided him, his body a blur as he sought refuge behind the solace of a wall. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, a relentless rhythm that echoed the uncertainty of his situation. A glance around the corner revealed Eckhardt's menacing presence, Kurtis's breath held like a secret.

Outside, sirens wailed, a lament that pierced the night. Kurtis's gaze, a fleeting glimpse into his thoughts, lingered on the distant glow of blue and red. An observation escaped his lips, a wry commentary on the almost supernatural speed of law enforcement's arrival in scenes like these.

From the corner of his eye, Kurtis noticed a woman emerge from the same room. The tension between them was palpable, the shared recognition of being trapped in the same dance. Their eyes locked, a fleeting moment of connection before her fear overpowered her. Her flight was swift, her footsteps a desperate cadence in the hallway.

However, Kurtis's intuition read her trajectory. "No, you're running to him," he mused, a conclusion drawn from the intricate threads of their circumstances. His pursuit was relentless, his steps echoing the urgency that pulsed within him. As he moved past the room she had vacated, a grim tableau greeted him – Werner's lifeless form sprawled on the floor, a chilling testament to the darkness that had taken root.

Kurtis's focus remained unwavering, the chase unfolding like a dance through the corridors. A second staircase beckoned, its descent mirroring his determination. The woman's escape led her onto the unforgiving streets, and Kurtis's senses were heightened by the blare of sirens, a discordant chorus that enveloped the night.

The sirens painted his decision. A step back, a recalibration of his approach. The police's swift response dictated his retreat. "Better stay away from them. I'm still a wanted man," he acknowledged, a reminder that the shadows could only offer so much refuge. He retraced his steps, retracing his path to where William awaited, nursing his own wounds.

"What happened?" Kurtis's concern mirrored in his voice, his eyes falling on his brother's injured leg.

"Cabal!" William's voice held a hint of exasperation, the familiarity of their adversary evident in his tone. A finger pointed to a van that sped past, the emblem of their nemesis adorned on its surface. "But it's nothing I can't handle."

Kurtis's sigh was laden with sorrow as he delivered the news that weighed heavy on his heart. "Eckhardt killed Werner." The weight of loss was palpable, the void left in their lives inescapable. "But we have a small problem."

William's curiosity peaked, his gaze attentive. "What problem?" His question hung in the air, a canvas on which Kurtis painted their new reality.

"There was a woman also leaving the apartment, but she didn't look like Cabal. I figure that Eckhardt kept her alive for some reason."

William's mind whirred with possibilities, the gears of his thoughts in motion. "Where is she now then?" His gaze held a resolve, a shared understanding of the dangers that now loomed.

Kurtis's answer was tinged with urgency as he ignited his bike's engine. "She ran away from me. I couldn't see her face, but either she's out there on the streets or the police have her."

"Then she's a victim of Eckhardt," William's voice carried the weight of empathy, his brother's sentiment a reflection of their shared ethos. "We better find her before the Cabal does."

Kurtis's grip tightened on the handlebars, his resolve unyielding. "I know." With a shared glance, they accelerated into the night, their bikes weaving through the labyrinth of streets as they embarked on a new chapter of their mission – to rescue the woman caught in the crosshairs of darkness and deception. Their destination: the nearest hotel, a haven to regroup, recalibrate, and unearth the threads that would lead them further down the rabbit hole.


Back Streets of Paris

Paris

16 November 2003

20:55

Lara Croft

Lara's breaths came in ragged gasps as she burst out of the back entrance of the building, rain pelting down with renewed intensity. The dampness clung to her like a shroud, urging her onward. The urgency of the situation propelled her feet to pound against the wet pavement. Each step was a declaration of her determination to distance herself from the building that held too many secrets.

Raindrops mingled with the cadence of her hurried footsteps, a symphony of elements that seemed to conspire against her. Determined to avoid being drenched and desperate to evade the prying eyes of both danger and authority, she darted down the road. Her destination unclear, she sought refuge in the shelter of an alleyway, the passage a fleeting oasis of concealment.

To her surprise, the blare of sirens rekindled their proximity a stark reminder that danger was never far behind. Heart pounding, Lara summoned every ounce of her physical prowess, running as if the shadows themselves chased her. A sudden turn led her to a scene that mirrored her fears – a police van stationed before her, doors swinging open like the jaws of a predator.

A gasp caught in her throat as two dogs leaped out from the van's confines, their menacing figures embodying the relentless pursuit that echoed her every step. A corner turned, a corridor entered – her flight was a symphony of desperation.

Her body, an instrument of survival, propelled her up a staircase, its echoes harmonizing with her racing heartbeat. The dogs' barks clung to her like a haunting refrain. In her wake, she left behind a cacophony of danger that seemed to swell with each passing second.

Dismay gripped her as the corridor she fled down revealed its cruel nature – a dead-end, a trap that offered no sanctuary. A window beckoned, a fleeting hope that a leap into the unknown might offer respite. The cold touch of rain-soaked metal met her hands as she opened the window, the cacophony of barks spurring her on.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. The snarl of a dog greeted her ears, its leap propelled by a combination of instinct and aggression. The backpack on her shoulder became a target, and its weight pulled at her as the dog's jaws locked onto it. In a moment of desperation, she slipped the bag free, tumbling to the ground with a desperate resolve.

Rolling onto the wet pavement, she surged to her feet, her breath a visible testament to the intensity of her effort. Her eyes, fierce and determined, met the gaze of the dogs that barred her path. The backpack now clutched in the jaws of one of them, dangled like a trophy of their pursuit.

"They can't follow me," she whispered, her voice a fierce reminder to herself. With a determined pivot, she turned her back on the dogs, her thoughts focused on evading her relentless pursuers. The next door beckoned, an entryway to an enclosed courtyard that offered a fleeting promise of escape.

Metal grated against metal as the rusty gate creaked open, granting her passage. The steps to her right unveiled a path – down to street level. The gate was her new threshold, her hopes pinned on the possibility that it would swing open. A tinge of disappointment coursed through her as she found it locked, a barrier to her freedom.

Time's impatient drumbeat quickened her decision-making. The gate's rusted bars became her ally as she hauled herself over, the fall a controlled descent that ended with a bending of knees and a muted thud of feet against the pavement.

The words that escaped her lips were a testament to her resilience, a vow to continue the battle for survival. "This looks like a safe area, but I need to find a way out," she voiced her determination to herself, her eyes scanning the courtyard for a new path, her resolve unwavering in the face of adversity.


Hotel

Paris

16 November 2003

21:30

Kurtis Trent

Emerging from the bathroom, Kurtis was met with his brother's voice beckoning from the bedroom. The hotel room they had secured offered a temporary haven, its ambiance a stark contrast to the turmoil that had pushed them to its confines. Two single beds stood in the room's center, their simplicity a testament to their utilitarian purpose. A small TV adorned the wall, its glowing screen casting an eerie light across the room.

"Breaking News," the television's announcement captured their attention, its grim tone a reflection of the darkness that had woven its tendrils through the city. The words that spilled forth painted a haunting picture of a city gripped by fear.

The news anchor's voice, a messenger of doom, continued: "There have been seventeen reported murders in this latest outbreak of Monstrum killings. It would appear to be the work of a single highly psychotic perpetrator." The words hung heavy in the air, a chilling realization of the malevolence that had swept through the city. A name emerged from the depths of the report – Professor Werner Von Croy – a reminder of the lives claimed by the darkness.

As the screen showed images of crime scenes, their grim realities laid bare, Kurtis's gaze shifted to his brother. "Won't be long until they know who she is, brother," William's voice held an undertone of caution, the inevitability of discovery looming like a shadow.

Kurtis's features remained stoic as he absorbed the information, his thoughts already contemplating the next moves. "Well, at least we know she's still out there," he commented, his voice a mixture of pragmatism and resolve. He turned his gaze to the window, the rain-drenched streets below reflecting the city's somber mood.

William's inquiry broke the silence, injecting practicality into their thoughts. "Where do you think we should look for her?"

Kurtis's response was measured, his focus broader than the immediate task at hand. "I'll handle the woman; we have bigger problems."

"Turkey!" William's exclamation was punctuated with an air of urgency.

"Yes, you need to head over there first thing tomorrow morning." Kurtis's eyes met his brother's, the gravity of their mission underscoring their conversation. "We can't let the Cabal find that last sleeper."

William nodded in agreement, his actions already set in motion. "I'm on it," he affirmed, retrieving his phone as the pieces of their plan fell into place. "I'll call in another favor and leave first thing tomorrow morning."

"Good, I can handle a woman," Kurtis's words held a hint of determination, his thoughts focused on the task that lay ahead. A glance at the TV reminded him of the enigmatic woman who had managed to slip through the city's grasp. "How hard can she be?"

William's speculation on her whereabouts brought a tinge of empathy to Kurtis's assessment. "Maybe she's hiding somewhere scared to come out," he considered, acknowledging the range of possibilities that her predicament presented.

"Can be. If she's smart, like running from the police, she'll be hiding maybe in the back streets of Paris," Kurtis mused, his insights shaped by years of experience.

"Just be careful, brother," William's words were tinged with concern, a reminder of their shared fraternity even in the face of danger. He headed towards the door, a need for respite guiding his steps. "I'm going to get something to drink."

Kurtis nodded in acknowledgment, left alone with his thoughts. The TV's muted chatter was replaced by the scratching of pencil on paper as he pulled out his notebook, his focus intent on the task at hand.

"I only saw a glimpse of her, but with the rapport, I can picture her already," his thoughts materialized on paper, his hands tracing the contours of a face that had left an impression on his memory. "She can help us find out why Eckhardt kept her alive."

As he sketched, the TV's narrative resumed in the background, each new development a testament to the woman's strength and resourcefulness. "Interesting," Kurtis murmured, a grudging admiration woven into his tone. "She's strong. I'll give her that." In the midst of their own tumultuous journey, a new player had emerged – a woman whose actions held the potential to reshape the course of their mission.