The forest around them seemed to swallow Élodie and Luc whole, the trees pressing close, their branches tangled and thick as they ran. The pounding of their feet on the earth was loud in the otherwise quiet night, their breaths ragged and urgent. Every step felt like an eternity, every shadow a potential enemy.
Élodie's mind raced, her thoughts a whirl of confusion and guilt. Vincent... The name burned in her mind, the image of his tortured face seared into her memory. Had he truly betrayed them? Or had he been forced into a corner, a puppet controlled by those who had no mercy?
The Gestapo would have no such doubts. To them, there was no gray area, only black and white. And Vincent—no matter his intentions—had become their prey.
Her heart pounded in her chest, but she didn't slow. Luc, always the calm one, had already taken the lead, his gaze sharp, eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger. She could hear him muttering to himself, his mind calculating the fastest route to their safe house, the place they had built and fortified, where they could regroup and plan their next move.
But the thoughts of Vincent still gripped her. What had he meant by saying he could help them? Was there still a chance for him? Or had he truly chosen to side with the enemy?
No. He can't be one of them. He can't.
She stumbled slightly, her mind more focused on the memory of Vincent than the harsh reality of their flight. Luc shot her a quick glance over his shoulder, his face hard but his eyes filled with something like concern.
"You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Luc's voice was low, but there was no mistaking the edge of anger beneath it. He didn't have to say the name. They both knew who he was talking about.
Élodie bit her lip, her fists clenched at her sides. "I'm thinking about what he said," she replied, the words escaping in a rush. "About being forced to do things... about his family. Luc, what if he wasn't the traitor we thought?"
Luc didn't answer immediately. He didn't need to. He knew the weight of the question. He had seen the darkness that had taken hold of so many in these times, the impossible choices that had torn people apart. He had seen what the war did to those who had once stood beside him in the fight.
"We don't have the luxury of what ifs, Élodie," Luc said finally, his voice hard, resolute. "If Vincent is still working with the Germans, he's a liability. And you know as well as I do, there's no place for him in this fight. We can't afford to question loyalty. Not now."
Her chest tightened at his words, a knot forming deep inside her. The last thing she wanted was to turn her back on him, but Luc's logic was undeniable. The Resistance couldn't afford a single crack in their foundation, and Vincent's sudden appearance, his uncertain loyalties—it was a crack that could bring everything tumbling down.
But could she truly let go of the man she had once loved? Could she condemn him to the same fate she had seen others suffer?
They pushed on through the night, the forest growing denser, the air colder as they neared the safe house. Élodie's mind, however, was far from the sanctuary they sought. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Vincent. She hadn't known him to be weak. She hadn't known him to be a traitor. If the rumors were true, if his betrayal was real, then she had lost more than just a comrade. She had lost a part of herself, the version of her that believed in redemption, in second chances.
Luc halted suddenly, spinning to face her. His eyes were intense, unwavering. "We don't have time for this, Élodie. If Vincent really is trying to play both sides, if he's with the Germans now, you can't afford to let your feelings get in the way. The Resistance needs you. I need you."
Her breath caught in her throat. She could hear the pain in his voice—the frustration, the fear. Luc had always been there, the steady presence by her side through everything. But this—this was different. This was personal, and she could feel the tension between them like a physical wall. She could see it in his eyes, the quiet plea for her to choose him, to choose the cause, and to leave Vincent behind.
But Vincent was her past. Her heart—a traitor to reason—refused to let him go.
"I don't know what to believe anymore," she whispered, her voice trembling as she looked up at Luc. "I don't know what's right. I don't know who to trust."
Luc's expression softened for a moment, but it was fleeting. "You're not alone in this, Élodie. I'm right here, and I'll always be. But if you let him cloud your judgment—"
"I won't," she cut him off, her voice firmer now. "But I have to know the truth. I have to understand what happened to him."
Luc's gaze darkened, but he said nothing more. He turned and began walking again, signaling for her to follow. She didn't need to be told twice. The urgency was there, in the way Luc moved, in the tension that clung to the air. The Gestapo were still out there, and the clock was ticking.
As they neared the safe house, Élodie's mind still spun with the questions about Vincent, but the safety of their comrades, the mission, and the cause they fought for took precedence. For now.
Inside the safe house, Élodie tried to shake the feeling of unease that clung to her like a shadow. The walls, lined with maps and radios, offered some comfort, but they couldn't silence the storm within her. Vincent's face, his eyes, the words he had spoken—forced, family—they echoed through her mind, pulling at her, making her question everything she thought she knew.
"Élodie?" Luc's voice broke through her reverie, and she turned to see him standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. "We need to talk. About what happens next."
She nodded, her stomach heavy with the knowledge that no matter what came next, she would have to face the consequences of her choices. And she wasn't sure if she was ready to make them.