The diesel generator's drone echoed in the derelict warehouse, a weary beast's sigh. The single bulb cast a sickly yellow glow, pressing their three shadows flat against the mottled walls like paper cutouts. Karim's breathing had finally evened out, his eyelashes casting faint crescents on his cheeks, moons ready to be scattered by a breeze. Samira touched his forehead with her thumb—the fever had receded to a faint warmth, like stone cooled by night rain.
Ilyas crouched by the generator, tightening the fuel valve one last time. Only centimeters of murky diesel remained in the tank, swirling with the last unburned flecks of ash. The embers spun in the metal, trapped stardust. He lifted his gaze, past the bulb, landing on an old calendar in the corner—July 13, 2025, circled in red, scrawled beside it: *Border Crossing Closed*.
"Six hours," he said, his voice raspy but carrying an unfamiliar slackness. "They'll lock down the market in six. The ferry across the river only waits till noon."
Samira pulled the blanket higher over Karim's shoulders. The pinpoint below her collarbone lay still as a frozen ember, but she knew it wasn't asleep—just waiting for the next breath.
Outside, the dawn mist had burned away. Sunlight fell like shards of glass on the corrugated iron roof. The silhouette of the abandoned market sharpened: tilted signs, tarps snapping in the wind, the occasional crow skimming past. Ilyas pushed the door open. A wave of heat and dust rolled in, thick with the scents of dry grass and rust.
"The boatman only takes cash," he said, turning and tossing a crumpled envelope to Samira. "I'll hold them here."
Inside the envelope were a few faded Euro notes, edges worn soft from countless hands. Samira gripped it, knuckles white. "We go together."
Ilyas shook his head. A faint smile touched his grey eyes, like cracks forming in ice. "My bridge ends here. Yours keeps going."
He bent down, sprinkling the last grains of ash into the generator's air intake. Flames roared upwards. The bulb blazed blindingly bright, then shattered with a sharp *pop*. Shards rained down like soundless fireworks. Darkness swallowed the warehouse, swallowing Ilyas's final outline.
Samira clutched Karim tighter and stepped out. Sunlight hit her bare arms. The orange pinpoint beneath her skin gave a faint pulse, answering a distant call.
The market was quieter than expected. Stalls stood empty, tarps snapping like flags. The only sound came from the river dock—the stuttering throb of a diesel engine. The ferry, like a drowsy fish disturbed, was easing away from the bank. The boatman wore a straw hat, his face shadowed, only a dark chin visible.
Samira ran. Karim jostled in her arms, his breath warm and milky-scented against her neck. The pinpoint on her chest flared, a lamp swaying in the wind, guiding her through empty stalls, over scattered crates, around the last pile of cardboard boxes.
The boatman looked up. His gaze landed on the faint glow below her collarbone, then on Karim's sleeping face. He didn't ask. He simply reached out, took the envelope, his fingers lingering on the notes for a heartbeat, then stepped aside, revealing the gangplank.
The engine roared again. The ferry pushed off. The river was wide, the water murky, like a cloth folded over and over. Samira stood at the stern, looking back—the derelict signs, the leaning warehouse, the thin wisp of smoke still clinging to the tin roof.
Suddenly, a massive explosion ripped through the air from the warehouse direction. A fireball punched skyward, roiling black smoke unfurling like a tardy mushroom cloud. A wave of heat skimmed the river's surface, raising tiny ripples. Karim stirred in her arms, his eyes fluttering open, dazed, yet finding his sister's face unerringly.
"Ilyas?" he asked.
Samira pressed him closer, lips against his damp temple. "He went home."
The ferry chugged onward. The woods on the far bank grew distinct. Sunlight pierced the canopy, dappling the water like countless leaping golden scales. The pinpoint on her chest pulsed one final time, then winked out—not vanished, but sinking deeper, like a seed into soil.
As the boat nudged the shore, Karim was asleep again. Samira lifted him onto her back and stepped onto the soft, wet mud of the bank. Deep in the woods, a path covered in wild grass led towards a village unmarked on any map.
She turned, looking back across the river one last time. The plume of smoke from the explosion was fraying in the wind, a shredded grey veil. Sunlight caught the water, reflecting her own image—the mark below her collarbone had faded to a pale gold, like a mended crack.
She turned and walked into the woods. Wind rustled through the treetops, a sound like countless tiny bursts of applause, seeing off an escape known to no one.
On her back, Karim softly hummed their mother's song, the sound small, yet softly enough to carry through the whole summer.