The canals stretched like veins across the quiet Dutch countryside, fog clinging to the water in ghostly tendrils. Sofiane led the group along a narrow footpath, Younes tucked securely in his arms. Each step was deliberate, measured, aware of every snap of twigs or distant splash in the water.
Julien whispered beside him, "We'll need a boat or some kind of raft to cross at the next junction. Those patrols aren't going to let anyone just walk across."
Sofiane nodded, scanning the dark outlines of abandoned barges and derelict docks. "There's a small ferry I saw from the ridge. Old, rickety, but it'll hold us—and it won't make noise if we're careful."
Mouna glanced nervously at the fog. "And if Ayoub's men are waiting on the other side?"
"Then we adapt," Sofiane replied, voice calm but firm. "We've faced worse."
The group moved quietly through the reeds, crouching low whenever a shadow passed. Younes stirred in Sofiane's arms but remained asleep, protected by the warmth and the steady rhythm of his father's movement.
At the edge of the canal, the ferry appeared, half-submerged, ropes fraying. Sofiane tested its stability, stepping lightly onto the deck. "It'll hold. One by one. Carefully."
Cynthia was first, holding Younes's small backpack. She glanced at Sofiane, a quiet question in her eyes. He simply nodded. Trust was implicit now, built over tense hours of survival.
Step by step, the group crossed, the wooden planks groaning under their weight. The fog thickened, cloaking them in a veil that was both a shield and a danger. Any misstep could alert patrols or trigger a hidden snare.
Halfway across, a distant shout cut through the mist. Sofiane froze, eyes narrowing. "Patrols. Keep moving. Don't make a sound."
The group pressed on, hearts pounding, but the ferry held. At the far side, the canal bank was muddy, slick with morning dew. Sofiane helped Cynthia and Mouna ashore, then leapt down himself, careful not to slip.
Julien checked the path behind them. "Clear—for now. But we need to keep moving. The refuge isn't far, but it's not safe yet."
Sofiane adjusted Younes in his arms, his resolve hardening. Each step back toward Germany was a step toward the reunion with his sister, the group, and the safety of the refuge. But Ayoub's shadow lingered—an ever-present threat that would follow them across borders if they weren't vigilant.
The canals behind them swallowed the fog, leaving only a faint ripple as evidence of their passage. Ahead, the road to the refuge wound through abandoned farms and empty streets, each one a potential ambush. Sofiane led the way, every sense alert, every muscle coiled, knowing that each step brought them closer to safety—and the inevitable confrontation that awaited them.