The canal stretched ahead like a ribbon of black glass, reflecting the dim morning light. Sofiane led the way, Younes holding his hand tightly, while Cynthia, Mouna, and Julien flanked him on either side. Every footstep was measured, every sound calculated.
Mist hovered over the water, obscuring the banks and giving the world an ethereal, uneasy feeling. Sofiane's eyes darted constantly, scanning for movement, listening for the faintest ripple or whistle. They weren't alone.
"Tracks," Julien whispered, crouching near the edge where the muddy bank met the canal. "Recent ones. Someone's been moving along this path in the past few hours."
Sofiane knelt, inspecting them quickly. The prints were too small for an adult male alone, but the pace suggested caution, a deliberate effort not to leave a trace. "We're being watched," he said simply. "But they haven't engaged yet. Whoever it is, they're testing us, learning."
Cynthia's hand rested lightly on Younes's shoulder, keeping him close. "We can use the canal. Boats, hidden inlets—they can't follow us easily unless they know the waterways well."
Mouna pointed toward a narrow dock half-hidden by reeds. "There's a small skiff. Could carry us downstream for a while, avoid the main roads."
Sofiane nodded. "Good. We take it—but quietly. No lights, no noise. We move in silence. The less predictable we are, the safer Younes will be."
The group slid the boat into the water with as little sound as possible. Sofiane pushed it gently, stepping in first with Younes in his arms. The boy clung to him, whispering a sleepy question about their destination. Sofiane smiled briefly, the softness in his gaze hidden beneath years of stress. "We're going to someone who can help us. You'll be safe."
As the boat drifted along the misty canal, shadows moved along the banks—figures crouched behind trees, watching, measuring. Sofiane's grip on the paddle tightened. His mind raced through contingencies. If they were spotted, if the canal was blocked, what then? Every option had been considered; every escape planned.
Hours passed, the mist thickening and thinning in unpredictable patterns. Small encounters with wildlife—a heron lifting silently into the air, a splash in the water—kept their nerves taut. Each sound was a reminder that the world was alive, dangerous, and waiting for a misstep.
Finally, as the sun began to break the horizon, casting pale light across the canal, they reached a small cluster of abandoned buildings. Sofiane recognized them immediately—Cynthia had guided them to a safehouse used by sympathizers who monitored the borders.
"We can rest here for a few hours," Cynthia said. "And gather information. The locals may know who's been tracking the boy."
Sofiane set Younes down gently, letting him stretch tired limbs. His eyes swept the group, gratitude and trust in every glance. These allies, these strangers who had stepped into his mission, were part of the thread keeping his son alive.
He drew a deep breath. The canal had been only the first leg. Ahead lay threats he couldn't yet see, mysteries to unravel, and the faint stirrings of something unexpected—feelings toward Cynthia, small moments of trust and warmth that his focus on survival had never allowed before.
The journey was far from over, but Sofiane had made the first decisive steps. Shadows along the canal had not defeated them; the current had carried them forward, toward hope, toward answers, and toward the inevitable confrontation with the forces still hunting them.