The night had deepened around them, but the sky above was still heavy with the weight of impending danger. The air, thick with tension, seemed to pulse in rhythm with the pounding of Élodie's heart. They moved swiftly, their steps muffled against the soft earth as they made their way through the thick underbrush. Élodie's breath came in shallow bursts, the chill of the evening air biting at her skin as she glanced back toward the house, the only place she had ever called home. Now, it felt like a distant memory—an echo of a life long gone.
Liam, still unconscious, was slung carefully between Luc and Élodie, his limp form a constant reminder of the perilous path they had chosen. The weight of him—both literal and metaphorical—was heavier than any of them could have anticipated. His breathing, shallow and ragged, was the only sound that accompanied their hurried footsteps.
The path was treacherous, winding through dense woods and over uneven ground. The mountains loomed ahead, their jagged peaks barely visible in the dark. Élodie could feel the presence of the hills like a weight on her chest, their silent promise of safety seeming farther and farther away with each step.
Luc was in front, his eyes scanning the darkness, alert for any sign of movement. He had grown quiet, his usual confidence replaced by an intensity that made Élodie uneasy. He knew the stakes—they all did. But there was something else, something unspoken, that lingered between them. Luc's gaze flickered back toward her, a brief flash of something she couldn't name. The way he looked at her, as if he were measuring her, gauging her every reaction.
"I don't know if we'll make it," Luc muttered under his breath, his voice carrying the weight of truth.
Élodie didn't answer. What could she say? They were out of options, and the consequences of failure were too grave to consider. She focused on keeping her pace steady, pushing aside the nagging feeling in her chest—the feeling that, somehow, this wasn't just about survival.
She wanted to believe that their actions were driven by duty alone—that saving Liam, a stranger from a distant land, was simply a necessary act of resistance, an obligation to the fight they had all taken on. But as the night stretched on, a quiet truth began to settle within her: there was something more at play. Something that stirred deeper than duty.
The mountains were close now, the air growing colder with each step, the scent of pine mingling with the damp earth beneath their feet. But as they neared the foothills, a sound reached their ears—a low hum, almost imperceptible at first, but steadily growing louder. Élodie froze, her hand instinctively tightening around the strap of the makeshift stretcher they used to carry Liam.
"Do you hear that?" she whispered.
Luc's head snapped around, his face tense as he strained to listen. The sound of the distant engine became clearer—a vehicle, moving fast, its engine roaring through the night. It was too close.
"Gestapo," Luc muttered, his voice low and dangerous. "We have to move faster."
Élodie's pulse quickened, a rush of panic surging through her veins. "We can't outrun them with him—"
"We don't need to outrun them. We need to hide." Luc's eyes swept the area around them, narrowing as he spotted a dense thicket of trees up ahead. "This way. Stay close."
The urgency in his voice propelled them forward, and Élodie followed him without question, her eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of the enemy. The vehicle's engine roared again, much closer now, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. They had mere seconds before the Gestapo arrived in their path.
Luc led them into the thicket, ducking low to avoid the branches that reached out like skeletal hands. The dense foliage swallowed them whole, the world outside fading into a blur of shadow and silence. They crouched beneath the cover of the trees, their breath catching in the still night air, as the sound of the approaching vehicle grew louder—closer.
Élodie's heart thudded painfully in her chest as she kept her eyes fixed on the path, her thoughts racing with every possible outcome. There was no guarantee they would escape unnoticed. They could be found at any moment, their lives torn apart in the blink of an eye.
The engine roared, then slowed. The Gestapo was near.
Luc crouched beside Élodie, his body tense with readiness. His eyes, usually so assured, now gleamed with the weight of uncertainty. He wasn't just worried about their survival. There was something else gnawing at him.
"We stay quiet," he whispered urgently. "Don't make a sound."
The minutes stretched on like hours, each second an eternity. The engine's rumble faded into the distance, but the air still vibrated with tension. Élodie's grip tightened on the edge of the stretcher, her fingers numb from the cold. She could feel Liam's shallow breaths against her shoulder, a quiet reminder of the stakes that hung over them all.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sounds of the vehicle receded completely. Silence returned, but the kind that was heavy, suffocating, as if the world was holding its breath.
Luc glanced over at Élodie, his face unreadable in the dim light. "We're not safe yet," he said quietly. "We move. Now."
Without another word, they continued on their way, the mountains growing ever closer but still shrouded in the same darkness that had made their journey so perilous. Each step was a test of their endurance, their will to survive. And yet, in the pit of her stomach, Élodie couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. She wasn't sure what it was, but it was as if the night itself had become a witness to something forbidden—something she would have to confront sooner or later.