The cold wind cut through the Dutch morning, carrying the sharp scent of wet grass and canal water. Sofiane and the group climbed cautiously along the dike, Younes snug against his chest. Every step echoed softly against the concrete embankment, each ripple of sound amplified by the emptiness surrounding them.
Cynthia walked beside him, scanning the horizon. Her eyes caught movement near a cluster of abandoned boats tied to the canal. "Someone's there," she whispered, pointing subtly.
Sofiane nodded, signaling Mouna and Julien to slow. "Stay low. Observe before reacting."
From the shadows, a man emerged cautiously. His clothes were tattered, and a makeshift spear rested in his hands. Despite his appearance, his eyes were sharp, wary, calculating. He froze at the sight of Sofiane's group, then took a tentative step forward.
"I don't want trouble," he called, voice steady but cautious. "Just looking for food, like anyone else."
Sofiane lowered his guard slightly but kept his tone firm. "We're moving through. Do you know the area? Any safe paths toward the northern district?"
The man hesitated, then nodded. "I do… but you're carrying a child. Dangerous times. You need guidance, or you won't last the day."
Cynthia stepped forward. "We're looking for a boy. Younes. Have you seen him?"
The man's gaze sharpened, and he studied the child carefully. Sofiane tensed, ready for any sign of deception. After a moment, the man nodded. "I know of a house where a boy has been kept safe. Not far from here, across the dike, but you'll need to avoid the patrols. Ayoub's men are roaming."
Sofiane's pulse quickened. "How do we get there without being seen?"
The man pointed to a narrow embankment leading behind the warehouses, mostly hidden by tall reeds and broken fences. "Follow this path. You'll reach the house in the next hour if you move carefully. But don't make a sound. They'll hear."
Julien whispered, "It's risky, but it might be our only shot."
Sofiane nodded, considering every possibility. He could feel the weight of responsibility pressing down. Every misstep could cost Younes, or worse. "We move now. Follow me exactly. Cynthia, stay close to him. Mouna, cover our rear."
The group slipped into the reeds, bodies low, hearts pounding. The patrols were distant but visible—figures patrolling in irregular patterns, weapons glinting faintly in the pale sunlight. Sofiane led them with precise movements, calculating angles, distances, and timing with the experience honed from countless survival missions.
Finally, the small brick house appeared, partially obscured by overgrown hedges. Sofiane signaled the others to halt. "This is it," he whispered. "Everyone stay sharp. We don't know what's waiting inside."
As they approached, a faint light flickered in a window. Sofiane's instincts screamed caution, but the relief of seeing Younes alive pushed him forward. The door creaked under his careful touch, and inside, the warm glow revealed the boy's temporary guardian—Cynthia. She stood beside a cot, Younes sleeping peacefully, unaware of the dangers around him.
Sofiane exhaled softly, relief washing over him. He knelt, gently lifting Younes into his arms. "We found you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Cynthia met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. "He's safe… for now," she said quietly.
Sofiane nodded. "Thanks to you. We'll keep him safe from here."
The group settled in the shadows of the room, planning their next moves. Outside, the city was alive with danger, but inside, a fragile calm prevailed. Sofiane's resolve hardened—he would reunite his son with the refuge, and they would face the coming battles together.