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Chapter 73 - Chapter 73 – Across the Ridge

The early morning mist clung to the Spanish hills, heavy and unyielding, as Soufiane led the group along a narrow ridge. The landscape stretched below them, a patchwork of forests, abandoned fields, and distant towns. Every step was deliberate; every sound was weighed against the risk of detection. The echoes of the sawmill, the fires, and Ayoub's laughter were far behind them, but the memory of his brutality lingered like a shadow that refused to fade.

Soufiane's eyes scanned the horizon, dark and unblinking, calculating every ridge, every fold of the land. Amal followed closely, her bandaged arm pressed against her side, breathing steady but wary. Meriem carried her rifle like a lifeline, eyes darting to every flicker of movement below. And behind them, Mourad walked carefully, leaning occasionally on Abderrazak's broad shoulder, silent but alert.

"We need to keep moving," Soufiane murmured, voice low, as if speaking too loudly might summon Ayoub from the shadows. "The sooner we reach the border, the safer we are… and the faster we can find Zahira in Germany."

Amal's gaze lifted to him, determination clear despite the lingering fatigue. "And your son in the Netherlands. We're not letting anything stop us now."

Soufiane nodded. He didn't need to answer further; the unspoken weight of the mission hung heavy over them. Each knew what they had survived and what still awaited. Ayoub Essouibrat was alive, smart, and vengeful. He would follow them across borders if necessary, and every step forward was a challenge to his reach.

The path they followed was narrow and treacherous, lined with loose rocks and sharp ridges that dropped steeply into mist-laden valleys. The forest gave way to scrubland, and the scent of smoke and damp earth mingled with the metallic tang of fear and urgency. Soufiane moved silently, hand resting near the hilt of his knife, every muscle coiled and ready. He knew the group was fragile—physically and emotionally—but their resolve was harder than steel.

"Do you think Ayoub will try to track us into Europe?" Meriem asked, her voice a whisper.

"He will," Soufiane replied, eyes narrowing. "But he hasn't crossed oceans. Borders slow men like him… for now."

Hours passed as the ridge climbed higher, revealing the first signs of human life in the distance: a winding road, abandoned vehicles, the occasional flicker of smoke. The group avoided the road, keeping to the tree lines and rocky outcrops. Every step was measured, and every pause was strategic.

By midday, they reached a vantage point overlooking a small Spanish village. Soufiane crouched low, scanning the streets. He noticed the first signs of safety: quiet, no visible patrols, no signs of Ayoub's men. It was a small reprieve, but enough to allow them to rest briefly, tend to wounds, and plan the next leg of their journey.

Abderrazak spread out a small map, charcoal markings indicating the path to Germany and then the Netherlands. "We'll need to move fast," he said. "Cross rivers, avoid main roads, and keep under cover. Ayoub's reach is long, but the more ground we cover tonight, the closer we get to Zahira and your son."

Soufiane's jaw tightened. "We go at dusk. Keep low, keep quiet, and keep moving. No mistakes. Not anymore."

As the sun began to dip behind the distant hills, painting the valley in gold and crimson, Soufiane felt the familiar fire stir inside him. This was no longer just survival. This was purpose. This was family. And no Ayoub Essouibrat, no matter how cunning or cruel, would stop him from reaching the ones he loved.

The forest whispered around them, shadows lengthening across the ridge. Soufiane's eyes, sharp and unyielding, reflected the dying sunlight. Ahead lay a path of danger, uncertainty, and hope. And with every step, he reminded himself: they were not running anymore—they were moving forward, toward the family waiting on the other side of Europe.

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