The voices outside grew louder, closer. The rhythmic thud of boots reverberated through the earth, and Élodie felt her heart stutter in her chest. They were near. Too near.
Luc glanced at the cellar window, his eyes narrowing. "We don't have much time," he said in a low voice, urgency lacing his words.
Élodie nodded, moving swiftly. She had known this moment would come. There was no such thing as safety when you chose to stand against the tide of war. Every whisper of danger, every breath of uncertainty, had led her to this point. There were no easy choices now.
She glanced at Liam, whose face was still flushed with fever. He had not stirred, but his body's shallow breaths were the only indication that he was still clinging to life. She couldn't let him die here—not in this ruin of a village, not with the shadows of war closing in on them all.
"Luc," she said, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. "We need to move him. If they find him here, it's over."
Luc's expression softened for a brief moment, but the worry was clear in his eyes. "Where can we take him? The only safe places are already compromised."
Élodie clenched her fists, frustration rising in her chest. He was right, of course. The safe houses they had relied on for months were no longer safe. The Gestapo had eyes everywhere now, and even the remote caves in the hills were no sanctuary. She thought of the nearby vineyard, where old stone cellars had once hidden the wine but now served as a repository for the Resistance's secrets. It was the only place left.
"Saint-Roch," she said quickly. "There's an old chapel up the hill. It's secluded. The priest there, Father Denis—he's been helping the cause. He'll take him in."
Luc nodded, though his face remained tight with concern. "It's a long way. And we'll be exposed if we leave now."
"I know." Élodie's voice was calm, but her mind raced. "We'll move under the cover of darkness. I've already planned it. But we have to hurry."
She turned to Liam again, taking a deep breath as she knelt beside him. Her hands were shaking, the cold sweat on her palms slick as she adjusted his body, trying to make him as comfortable as possible despite the weight of his injuries.
Luc moved beside her, his large frame crouching down next to Liam's. The space between them was thick with unspoken words, a history of shared memories and unvoiced emotions. Élodie could feel it in the air, the tension that had been there ever since he had returned from his mission. They had always been close—more than close, perhaps. But now there was something else between them, something sharper, something harder.
"We can't take him too far, not like this," Luc said, his voice low. "I'll need to carry him."
Élodie met his eyes, her gaze softening, but the decision had already been made. "You'll carry him. I'll lead the way."
Without waiting for a response, she moved to the back of the cellar and pulled a faded woolen cloak from the hooks. She threw it over her shoulders, her fingers brushing the fraying edges. The fabric was old and worn, but it was all she had. She took one last look at Liam, her chest tightening with something she couldn't quite place. Fear? Hope? Perhaps both.
"I'll go first," she said, her voice steady. "Stay close. And for God's sake, don't let anyone see us."
Luc nodded and gently lifted Liam's limp body, cradling him like a child. His face was pale, sweat lining his forehead from the exertion, but his jaw was set, his expression grim. There was no room for hesitation now. They moved quickly, silently, through the dark corridors of the cellar, past old wine barrels and dusty shelves.
Outside, the night was thick with silence, the kind that comes before a storm. The village was still, too still, as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for what was to come. Élodie moved like a shadow, her steps light and cautious as she led the way through the twisting alleyways of Saint-Céleste.
They kept to the narrowest of paths, winding through overgrown gardens and forgotten side streets, avoiding the main roads where the Gestapo often patrolled. The air was cool and crisp, the scent of wet earth and wild herbs filling her lungs. She breathed it in, willing the calmness of nature to settle her nerves, but she could feel the tension in every muscle, the weight of the secret they were carrying.
Luc followed close behind her, his movements careful but sure. She could feel the heaviness of his presence—always so reliable, always so steadfast—but there was something else now, something unspoken between them that added an edge to the quiet night. He was watching her closely, his sharp eyes tracing every movement, every flicker of expression on her face.
And then, from somewhere far off, came the sound of boots—distant but unmistakable. The crunch of gravel, the murmur of voices. Élodie's heart stopped. The patrol. She motioned for Luc to stop and pressed herself against the wall of a nearby stone building. The shadows swallowed her whole.
Luc didn't move. He held Liam tighter, his face a mask of concentration.
She could hear the voices now, growing closer. The cold chill of fear slithered up her spine, but she didn't dare look over her shoulder. The Gestapo were always a step away. They couldn't be discovered. Not now.
The patrol passed within a few yards, their boots scraping against the dirt road. Élodie held her breath, praying the wind would cover the faintest sound of movement. A moment passed—then another—before the sound began to fade, carrying the soldiers away into the distance.
Élodie exhaled shakily, her chest tight. She could feel Luc's steady presence behind her, his body still rigid, but he gave no sign of relief. Not yet.
"We can't keep stopping like this," Luc said after a moment, his voice tight. "If they're near, we'll be caught."
"I know," Élodie whispered. "We keep moving. We can't risk going back now."
Luc gave a low nod, and they continued on, the weight of the night pressing down on them. They reached the outskirts of Saint-Céleste, the last stretch of their journey before the chapel was in sight. The moon hung high above them, a pale witness to the horrors of the world below.
Élodie quickened her pace, fear and hope tangled together in her heart. One step closer. Just one more step.
They were almost there.