The Berlin night was a cold, wet blanket, clinging to Ethan's skin as he limped through the graffiti-splashed alleyways. Each breath was a rasp, each step a protest from muscles screaming in agony. Anya's betrayal still burned, a raw, festering wound sharper than the one in his shoulder. The encryption machine, clutched tightly in his good arm, felt impossibly heavy, a burden of secrets and potential devastation.