The forest gave way to open fields as Soufiane's group moved cautiously eastward. Mist clung to the ground like a living thing, hiding them from prying eyes. His sister and her children followed silently, Amal's steady hand guiding them through uneven terrain.
Soufiane's mind was a storm of calculations. Ayoub's presence loomed over every decision. Though they had rescued his sister, the warlord's reach was long. Any misstep could mean confrontation before they even reached the Netherlands.
Abderrazak scouted ahead, crowbar at the ready. "The Rhine's edge isn't far," he murmured. "If we keep to the treeline, we can move unseen. Bridges and patrols… that's the risk."
Soufiane nodded, eyes scanning the horizon. "We take no unnecessary chances. Ayoub will follow our trail. We split attention: some watch the forest, some track the roads. We cannot let him anticipate our path."
The group settled near a ruined barn to rest, using the cover to check their gear. Weapons were cleaned and readied, wounds tended. Every small motion, every whispered plan, reinforced the unspoken rule: one mistake could unravel everything.
Meriem studied the map again, tracing the line toward the Rhine and further north into the Netherlands. "Once we cross, it's another country, another set of eyes. If we keep moving at night, we minimize exposure."
"Night travel," Soufiane agreed. "Quiet, fast, coordinated. No stops unless necessary." His jaw tightened. "We need intelligence before committing to action. The fewer surprises, the better."
From the barn's shadow, Amal spoke softly. "We might encounter local patrols, maybe civilians. How do we handle contact without alerting Ayoub's scouts?"
Soufiane's gaze hardened. "Observe first. Avoid confrontation unless it's unavoidable. We're ghosts on this path—seen by none, remembered by none."
The group rose again, moving with measured steps toward the river's edge. The mist thickened, carrying the smell of damp earth and distant smoke. Each footfall was weighed, each glance a silent calculation.
As they neared the riverbank, Soufiane paused, signaling the team. Across the foggy water, a faint light flickered—a lone lantern, perhaps a fisherman or patrol. The current moved steadily, carrying both opportunity and danger.
"Crossing must be timed perfectly," Soufiane whispered. "We cannot risk detection. And once we're on the other side, we regroup and push toward Germany. The children must stay safe. Every choice we make affects them."
Meriem's eyes reflected a mixture of fear and determination. "We've come this far. We can't falter now."
Soufiane nodded once, silent, but his mind already racing. Beyond the Rhine lay Germany, and with it, the first leads to his son. Each step, each decision, was a thread weaving toward that goal. Every night, every mist-covered mile, brought them closer to both salvation and confrontation.
The mist deepened as they reached a shallow ford. Soufiane counted the team, then stepped forward. One by one, they followed, moving through the icy water with care. Behind them, the barn faded into the gray fog, their past momentarily behind them.
Ahead, Germany waited—unforgiving, unknown, and filled with both hope and danger. And Soufiane's resolve, sharpened like the blade at his side, remained unbroken.