The path to the chapel was steep, winding through the wild scrub and ancient oaks that dotted the hills above Saint-Céleste. Élodie's legs ached from the exertion, but she pushed on, her thoughts a blur of urgency and fear. The sound of Luc's measured footsteps behind her was a steady anchor in the chaos of her mind. She didn't dare look back, not even for a moment.
The cold wind swept through the trees, carrying with it the scent of pine and damp earth, but Élodie felt none of its comfort. Every rustling leaf, every crack of a twig beneath her boots, made her heart race. The weight of the situation pressed down on her chest like a vise. They were so close, yet the danger was more palpable now than it had ever been.
Luc, his grip on Liam firm but gentle, matched her pace with quiet determination. She glanced at him over her shoulder for the briefest of moments, catching the faint glint of the moonlight reflecting off his eyes. The hardness in his features had softened since they'd started their journey, replaced with something that looked like resolve—mixed with the ghost of something else. His protective instinct, she thought. Always there. Always present.
But there was no time for distractions.
The chapel finally appeared before them, its silhouette looming against the backdrop of the night sky. It stood alone, nestled into the slope of the hill like a forgotten relic of a simpler time, its stone walls weathered by centuries of history. The faded crosses above its door and windows were almost invisible in the dim light, a quiet reminder of the faith that had once bound this place together—and now served as the final hope for those like Élodie and her comrades.
The door was slightly ajar, a flicker of light escaping from within. Élodie's breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening. Father Denis had promised to be ready, but the sight of the chapel, so much smaller in reality than in her memory, stirred something deep inside her—a mix of relief and dread.
Luc stepped forward, guiding Liam inside, and Élodie followed, her gaze darting around as if the shadows might hold hidden dangers. The heavy wooden door creaked shut behind them, sealing them in the cool silence of the chapel.
Father Denis stood near the altar, his thin figure illuminated by the soft glow of candles. He was older than she remembered, his once-dark hair now streaked with gray, his shoulders stooped by years of burden. But his eyes, when they met hers, were sharp and steady. A flicker of recognition passed between them, and then his gaze shifted to the figure in Luc's arms.
"Is it him?" Father Denis asked softly, his voice carrying the weight of years spent in the quiet service of resistance.
Élodie nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes. Liam Hart. British Special Operations Executive. He's badly wounded."
Father Denis stepped forward, his hands trembling as he helped Luc lower Liam onto a small wooden bench. "I'll tend to him, but we'll need to move quickly. We're not alone here," he added in a whisper, glancing nervously at the door.
Élodie's stomach tightened at the words. "How bad is it?"
"He's lost a lot of blood," the priest replied, crouching beside Liam's limp form. "His wounds are serious, but if we can stop the bleeding, there's a chance."
Élodie clenched her fists at her sides. A chance. It was all they had. She looked at Luc, whose face was set in grim determination. He was no stranger to danger, to the sharp sting of loss, but she could see the tension in his shoulders—the fatigue in his eyes.
"We can't stay here long," Luc said quietly, looking around the chapel. "The Gestapo are searching the area. We need to get back to the network. There's a safe house in the hills we can use."
Élodie hesitated, torn between her loyalty to Luc and the gravity of their situation. The need to get Liam to safety was paramount, but she also knew that Father Denis had risked everything to help them tonight. She could see the uncertainty in the priest's eyes as he worked, his hands shaking slightly as he tended to Liam's injuries.
"We can't move him yet," Father Denis murmured, wiping the blood from Liam's brow. "Not until he's stable."
Luc exhaled sharply, the frustration visible in the tight set of his jaw. "Then we stay. But we'll need to be careful. No one can know we're here."
Élodie looked around the dimly lit chapel, feeling the weight of the walls closing in on her. She had been here before, years ago, when life had felt simpler—when there was still a semblance of peace in the world. Now, everything had changed. The chapel, once a sanctuary, had become a hiding place, a refuge for those too desperate to turn elsewhere.
Father Denis finished his work on Liam, and the faintest of sighs escaped the wounded man's lips as his chest rose and fell with a shallower breath. The priest wiped his hands on a cloth, standing up slowly. His eyes flicked to Élodie, and there was something unreadable in his gaze.
"I've done what I can for now," Father Denis said, his voice low. "But we must leave soon. If they come looking for you, they will search everywhere. This place is no longer safe."
Élodie nodded, her thoughts spinning. They had no choice. They had to move Liam again—soon—but the question of where to go lingered like a specter. Where was safe? The war had stretched its tendrils into every corner of their world, turning even the most sacred places into traps.
"Luc," Élodie began, her voice barely a whisper. "We can't stay here long. But there's another place—a house near the edge of the forest. We used it for supplies before. We can wait until Liam is strong enough."
Luc hesitated, his brow furrowed as he considered the risk. But there was no other choice. He nodded. "We leave at first light."
Élodie turned to Father Denis one last time, gratitude and guilt washing over her in equal measure. "Thank you. For everything."
The priest offered a faint smile, his tired eyes crinkling at the corners. "I've done nothing but my duty. You'll get him out of here. You have my prayers."
With a final look at Liam, now stable but still unconscious, Élodie stepped away from the bench. The room felt colder now, the shadows deeper. There was something heavy in the air, a sense of inevitability that hung between them.
Luc opened the door quietly, peering out into the stillness of the night. "We'll leave soon," he said, his voice low but firm. "Stay alert."
Élodie gave a brief nod, steeling herself for what was to come. The road ahead was uncertain, but there was no turning back now. They were bound by a single, unyielding truth: survival, against all odds, meant moving forward.
And as the door closed behind them, Élodie knew—deep down—that whatever happened next, their fates were already entwined in the web of war.