11
Ostend was a city. The driver hadn't lied in that respect. And even though night had fallen by the time they arrived, Amira could tell it was a nice place. The streets were clean and quiet. The buildings tall and well maintained: some modern, some historical.
The coach wound its way through the city to a seafront. A long, straight road. A flat expanse of sand and a black ocean in the distance, with tiny lights out to sea.
The coach came to a rest next to a harbour busy with moored yachts. The driver turned off the engine and opened the doors.
That's when the scramble began. Amira's fellow passengers pulled on their coats and grabbed any belongings they had left. They beat a path for the front of the coach. As if the journey to freedom demanded a sprint finish.
Amira waited for the
