The night was unforgiving. The stillness seemed to press down upon Élodie like a weight, smothering her thoughts, smothering her hope. She sat on the edge of the cot, her gaze lingering on Liam, his face pale beneath the flickering candlelight. The soft rise and fall of his chest, the only indication of life in the still room, was both a comfort and a reminder of the precariousness of it all. Every second, every breath could be their last.
Élodie's thoughts were a tangled mess. Luc's warning echoed in her mind, his words cutting through her like a blade. You can't keep doing this. His words, filled with a sense of finality, forced her to confront the truth that she had been avoiding—there was no easy way out, no safe haven. Every decision she made now carried consequences she couldn't fully comprehend.
She looked at Liam again, his wounded form barely visible beneath the blanket. His lips parted slightly, a soft moan escaping as the fever burned through him. Élodie's hand instinctively reached for his, her fingers brushing against his hot skin.
"Hold on, Liam," she whispered, her voice trembling with a quiet desperation. "You have to make it."
She had never been one for prayer, never had the time for hope to manifest as anything more than a fleeting thought, but tonight she found herself praying anyway. Praying for his survival. Praying that the weight of the war, the weight of everything that had happened, wouldn't be too much for him to bear. That they wouldn't lose him.
The soft shuffle of footsteps outside the door jolted her from her thoughts, and she stiffened, every muscle tensed in anticipation. Another knock, more urgent this time, followed by the unmistakable voice of Luc.
"Élodie," his voice was low, a warning. "We have to go. Now."
Her heart hammered in her chest, adrenaline flooding her system. They had no time to waste. Without hesitation, she stood, her legs weak from the strain of keeping vigil over Liam for so long. She moved swiftly to the door, peering through the crack to find Luc standing there, his face grim.
"We don't have a choice," he muttered, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting the worst at any moment. "The patrols are closing in. We leave tonight, or we're caught. We need to move now."
Élodie's gaze flickered to Liam, who lay unconscious and vulnerable on the cot. The weight of the decision crushed her, and for a moment, her mind screamed at her to run—to leave this place, to leave everything behind and just survive. But survival, as she had learned, often came with a price.
"I can't just leave him," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's too weak. We have to wait."
Luc's jaw tightened, and for a moment, Élodie saw the conflict in his eyes. But his determination was unwavering. He wasn't going to back down.
"You're right. He can't move like this. But if we stay, we're all dead. We can't afford that." His voice was hoarse now, filled with the urgency that had begun to pulse in the air around them.
Élodie's breath hitched as she turned back to Liam. She wanted to protest, to scream at the injustice of it all, but the truth hung heavily in the air between them. The Gestapo wouldn't stop, not until they were all either captured or silenced. They had already risked so much—too much.
She nodded, a slow, reluctant surrender. "I'll carry him. We leave now."
Luc's eyes softened for just a moment. He stepped forward, his hand brushing her shoulder briefly, the touch gentle, though it spoke volumes. "We'll get him out of here. I promise you that."
As Luc moved to the back of the room, Élodie hurried to gather their things—what little they could take without drawing attention. There was no time to prepare, no time to think. The world outside the walls of the small house had already shifted from familiar to hostile, and there was no turning back now.
With the weight of what they were about to do pressing down on her, Élodie knelt beside Liam, her heart aching as she carefully lifted him into her arms. His body was limp in her hold, the fever that raged through him making him feel as if he were made of nothing more than fragile glass. She had to be strong for him. For them both.
"Come on, Liam," she whispered into his ear, her voice a prayer as much as a command. "We're getting out of here. Just hold on."
They moved quickly, Luc leading the way through the back door and into the pitch-black night. The moon hung low in the sky, offering just enough light to guide their steps. The air was crisp, sharp against Élodie's skin as they made their way toward the narrow alley that led into the heart of the village. Every step felt like an eternity, the sounds of distant footsteps and murmurs in the wind a constant reminder of the danger that was always just a breath away.
The village was quiet, too quiet. The usual hum of life—of farmers tending to their crops, of children playing in the streets—was absent. It felt as if the entire world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. For them to be caught.
Élodie's grip tightened on Liam, her muscles protesting the weight of his unconscious body, but she ignored the strain. There was no room for weakness now. Not when the stakes were so high.
They reached the edge of the village, where the dense woods of the Pyrenees rose like dark sentinels in the distance. It was their only hope—the only place where they could disappear, where they could find safety, even if only for a moment.
But just as they neared the treeline, the sharp sound of boots echoed from the other side of the alley. Élodie froze, her breath caught in her throat. Luc's hand shot out to stop her, his face hard with concentration.
"Get into the woods," he hissed. "Now."
They didn't hesitate. Élodie moved swiftly, clutching Liam tighter as they darted toward the trees, their movements masked by the shadows of the night. The footsteps behind them grew louder, and Élodie's heart raced with each passing second. She could hear the murmur of voices now, the unmistakable cadence of soldiers moving closer.
Just as they reached the cover of the trees, a shout rang out from the village behind them.
"Halt! Stop!"
The chase had begun.