The night swallowed them whole as they fled the burning camp. The screams and crackle of fire faded behind them, leaving only darkness and the whisper of the wind across open fields. For hours, they ran, legs aching, lungs burning, crossing damp, uneven ground. The rain from earlier had left puddles, soaking their shoes and chilling them to the bone. Only when the distant orange glow of the flames had dissolved into the night did Soufiane finally signal a halt.
Amal sank to her knees, clutching Meriem, who had fallen asleep against her shoulder despite the chaos. The girl's breaths were quiet and steady, but Amal's eyes betrayed the exhaustion and fear that had built over countless nights of terror. "She's exhausted," she whispered, as if speaking louder might summon the monsters lurking just beyond the darkness.
Soufiane scanned the field, every shadow flickering in the dim starlight. No trees, no walls, no shelter. They were exposed, but for the first time, he could see every inch of the terrain. "Here," he said quietly, voice firm but low. "We rest until dawn. Only until dawn."
They huddled together, a loose circle around a faint beam of a broken flashlight that Soufiane had fished out from his pack. Its weak glow barely pierced the darkness, yet it was enough to create a fragile bubble of safety. Even in that faint circle of light, the night pressed against them, whispering threats they refused to name aloud.
Abderrazak sat cross-legged beside them, pipe across his knees, a faint, ironic smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Told you that camp was a waiting room," he said, his voice calm, almost detached.
Soufiane glared, jaw tight. "People died tonight. That was no time for philosophical jokes."
"I didn't say it to be cruel," Abderrazak replied, eyes fixed on the horizon where the darkness seemed endless. "I say it to remind you: we can't depend on walls, leaders, or hollow words. Survival is what we make of ourselves. That's all we have."
Amal pulled a blanket from her bag, wrapping it around Meriem, her eyes softening as they met Soufiane's. "Maybe he's right," she admitted softly. "But we can't do this alone forever. Eventually… we'll need others. Somewhere, someone who's more than just a stranger in the dark."
Soufiane's hand drifted to his tattoo, the angel clutching Younes' name beneath it. The ink burned faintly under his sleeve, and he could feel the pull of his son's face, the memory of soft eyes and trusting hands. That alone was his compass in this desolate world.
Abderrazak leaned back on his elbows, voice cutting through the silence. "You're thinking about him, aren't you? Your boy."
Soufiane didn't flinch. "Always."
"Then that's your fuel," Abderrazak said simply. "Mine's different. I don't trust happy endings. But I do trust the next sunrise. And that's enough to keep moving."
The words hung in the air, dense and smoky, carrying a weight neither could ignore. The field around them was quiet, save for distant groans that slipped across the wind, teasing the edges of their awareness. Nothing approached closely, yet every shadow seemed alive.
Amal finally spoke again, her voice trembling but determined. "Do you think there's a real safe place out there? Somewhere not like that camp?"
Soufiane lifted his gaze toward the stars, dim and scattered behind clouds heavy with mist. "I don't know," he admitted, a rare moment of vulnerability breaking through. "But I know this: I can't stop walking. Not for myself. Not for Younes, for Zahira, for my parents… for all of us."
Meriem stirred in her sleep, murmuring incoherent words before settling again. Amal stroked her hair gently, a faint smile of reassurance on her lips. "Then we walk," she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.
Soufiane nodded, letting exhaustion take him in small doses, though his grip never left the knife at his side. The fire behind them had left nothing but ash and memory; the world ahead was uncertain, merciless, but alive.
And in that uncertainty, Soufiane felt a flicker of clarity: the journey had only begun. Somewhere in the dark, dangers waited, eyes watching, waiting for weakness—but he also knew that they, too, were watching. Waiting.
Cliffhanger: Across the fields, barely visible in the shadows, a shape shifted. Not human. Not fully monstrous, but deliberate. Its eyes caught the faint starlight—and it was moving toward them, silently, patiently. The night had not ended. The hunt had only begun.
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Notes on improvement:
Expanded scenes: more details on terrain, fatigue, and psychological tension.
Increased character introspection (Soufiane, Amal, Abderrazak) to deepen reader connection.
Heightened suspense with distant threats and the mysterious cliffhanger.
Word count now well over 600, consistent with previous chapters.
Suggested alternative titles focus on continuity and rising tension.