The early dawn painted the Dutch skyline in muted shades of gray. Sofiane moved cautiously, keeping Younes close against his chest. The city streets were mostly empty, save for the occasional sound of distant sirens or a lone crow cawing from a rooftop.
Cynthia led the way, her steps measured and silent, eyes scanning for any sign of danger. Mouna and Julien followed, carrying the few supplies they had gathered along their journey. Despite the calm, Sofiane felt the tension thick in the air. They were being hunted, and each movement mattered.
Sofiane stopped suddenly, crouching behind a low wall. His portable radio crackled once and then went silent. He tapped it, hoping for a signal, but the device remained dead. "The signal's gone," he muttered, frustration tightening his jaw.
Cynthia glanced at him. "What does that mean? Someone jammed it?"
"Possibly," Sofiane replied, scanning the streets. "Or maybe we're out of range. Either way, we can't rely on communication anymore. We move on instinct."
Mouna's voice trembled slightly. "If they're tracking us, how will we know which way to go?"
Sofiane knelt, adjusting the straps securing Younes. "We rely on observation. We rely on patterns. We rely on each other. We can't panic. Not now."
They moved on, weaving through narrow alleys and deserted squares. Every shadow seemed alive, every flicker of movement a potential threat. Sofiane's mind raced, calculating risks, planning contingencies. Each step forward was deliberate, each decision precise.
Suddenly, a faint noise reached them—a soft shuffle against the pavement. Sofiane froze, motioning for the others to do the same. From a distance, a small group of figures emerged, carrying backpacks and moving cautiously. Sofiane's pulse quickened.
"They're scouts," Julien whispered. "Probably looking for signs of us or Younes."
Sofiane nodded. "We can't let them see us. Follow my lead."
The group ducked into a narrow passage, pressing close against the walls. Sofiane signaled Cynthia and Mouna to spread subtle false footprints, creating the illusion of movement in a different direction. The scouts paused, scanning the streets, then moved along the misleading trail.
Sofiane exhaled quietly. "That should buy us some time," he said. "But we need a secure location to regroup. The safehouse near Rotterdam is still our target."
As they advanced, Sofiane's mind shifted to contingency planning. The lost signal meant they had no way to contact allies or request backup. Every move had to be precise. Every decision could determine whether they reached the refuge or walked into danger.
Finally, the familiar outline of the Rotterdam canal district appeared. Old warehouses and abandoned buildings lined the water, silent witnesses to the city's decay. Sofiane led the group toward a modest brick building tucked between two larger structures. It wasn't much, but it would provide shelter and a vantage point to plan the next stage.
Inside, Sofiane set Younes down carefully, checking him over. The boy stirred, rubbing his eyes sleepily. Cynthia watched closely, a mixture of concern and admiration in her gaze. Sofiane met her eyes briefly, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. They were in this together.
"We're not safe yet," Sofiane said, voice low but firm. "But we have a chance to regroup. Rest, plan, and prepare for what comes next. And no mistakes."
The group settled into the dim interior, listening to the faint lapping of the canal water outside. The lost signal was more than a setback—it was a reminder that they were entirely on their own. But Sofiane's resolve remained unshaken. He would reach his son's safety, and together, they would continue the journey to the refuge in Germany.