The streets of Hanover were shrouded in fog, thick enough to swallow the edges of streetlights and blur the shapes of abandoned cars. Soufiane's group moved with urgency, Lina and the children huddled close to him, Amal scanning behind for any sign of pursuit.
"We need to get to the safehouse before dawn," Soufiane muttered, keeping his voice low but firm. "The city wakes fast, and Ayoub's men could still be trailing us."
Abderrazak led the way, towering above the fog, moving silently yet with a presence that warned away any curiosity. "I checked the map," he said. "About three kilometers north, near the river. Old warehouse converted into a hideout. We can regroup there."
Meriem kept pace beside Soufiane, her rifle slung low, eyes constantly shifting. "The children…" she whispered, concern heavy in her tone. "They're exhausted. How far can they go without rest?"
Soufiane's jaw tightened. "Far enough. We slow only for immediate danger. Otherwise, we keep moving."
The city felt alien in the mist, every corner a potential threat, every alley a possible trap. Soufiane's mind raced, calculating paths, escape routes, and contingencies. He had learned the hard way that hesitation could cost lives.
As they neared the river's edge, the sound of water slapping against the docks reached them. Soufiane paused, listening. No engines, no footsteps—only the fog and their breathing. Relief was brief; it only meant Ayoub's men hadn't found them yet.
Lina whispered, clutching her children tightly. "I thought we'd never make it out of there," she said. Her voice trembled, exhaustion and fear lacing every word.
Soufiane glanced at her, eyes softening for a moment. "We made it," he replied. "And we'll keep making it. Step by step."
Amal pointed toward a narrow alley running along the riverbank. "Shortcut," she said. "Fewer lights, fewer people. But tight. Watch your step."
The group moved into the alley, the fog pressing close. Soufiane led, knife at the ready. Abderrazak brought up the rear, blocking any rear approach, while Meriem's gaze darted constantly, alert to every flicker of movement.
Halfway through, a sudden clatter echoed from a metal dumpster. The children whimpered, and Lina froze. Soufiane's hand shot up—stop. Everyone paused. His eyes pierced the fog, waiting. Nothing moved. Another moment passed, then the alley remained silent.
"Go," he whispered. The group advanced, hearts racing, muscles tense. Every step mattered.
Finally, the safehouse appeared—a small, abandoned warehouse by the river, walls coated with peeling paint and shadows that reached like fingers into the night. Soufiane checked the perimeter quickly, then nodded. "Inside. Fast."
The group slipped in, closing the heavy metal door behind them. Inside, darkness swallowed them, but it was a controlled darkness. Soufiane immediately scanned for exits, windows, and traps. Lina lowered the children to the floor, letting them rest for the first time since the rescue.
Amal sighed, easing herself against a crate. "For now, we're safe," she said. "But only for now."
Soufiane nodded, kneeling beside Lina. "We rest briefly. Heal. Then we plan the next move—toward the Netherlands. That's where the next piece of our family waits."
Abderrazak removed his pack, laying it on the floor. "We're close," he said quietly. "Closer than ever. But Ayoub isn't far behind, and he'll be waiting for us."
Soufiane's eyes hardened. "Let him wait. We've survived worse. We've taken what he thought was untouchable. And now, we move forward. Every step we take, we take together. No one left behind."
The fog pressed against the warehouse walls, a reminder of the dangers outside, but inside, a fragile sense of hope flickered. Tomorrow, they would begin the journey toward Holland, and toward Soufiane's son. Tonight, they would catch their breath, silently preparing for the storms to come.