The world seemed to freeze for an instant, the sharp crack of the gunshot still ringing in her ears. Élodie's breath caught in her throat as she ducked instinctively, her heart pounding against her chest. The figure of Vincent, stumbling through the shadows, was now framed by the dim light of distant lanterns, his eyes wide in terror.
Another shot rang out.
She didn't think—her legs moved on their own, propelling her forward through the thick brush and over the uneven ground. Her fingers brushed against the rough stone of a wall as she broke through the undergrowth, her mind only focused on one thing: reaching him.
"Vincent!" Her voice was sharp, strained, almost unrecognizable, but it cut through the night like a cry of desperation.
He heard her—his head whipped around, eyes locking onto hers with an emotion she couldn't quite place. Was it relief? Fear? Pain?
The gunfire continued to echo, distant but relentless, and Élodie's pulse raced. It wasn't just the Gestapo. It was someone else—someone who knew they were here, who was hunting them. But the truth was clear in that moment: she couldn't leave Vincent. Not now, not when the weight of their shared past hung between them like a shadow.
She reached him just as he stumbled, his body crumpling to the ground. His breath was ragged, and blood seeped through his jacket—too much blood. Her hands found his shoulders, her fingers trembling as she pulled him close, trying to steady him.
"Vincent, no—don't do this. You have to stay with me!" Her voice was frantic now, the words spilling out in a torrent.
His eyes flickered, focusing on her for a moment. "Élodie…" he whispered hoarsely, his voice raw with pain. "I... I didn't mean to bring this to you. I—"
Before he could finish, the sound of more footsteps—faster this time—cut through the air, and Élodie's heart dropped. They were closing in. She could hear their boots crunching against the gravel, the low mutter of voices.
"Damn it!" she hissed, pulling Vincent closer to the nearest building, dragging him toward the narrow alleyway that wound behind the village houses. Her thoughts raced. The plan had been for a swift strike—nothing more. But now, the sudden appearance of Vincent in their midst changed everything. He was the key to so many unanswered questions, the link between the past and the present.
As she dragged him further into the darkness, her mind screamed for clarity. She couldn't afford to be sentimental. She couldn't allow her feelings for him to cloud her judgment, not now, not when their lives were on the line.
A sudden crash of footsteps snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts.
"Luc!" she shouted hoarsely, but there was no reply.
Instead, the alley was eerily silent, save for the soft, painful breaths escaping Vincent's lips.
She couldn't stay here much longer. If they didn't move now, they'd be caught.
With desperate determination, she hoisted Vincent's arm over her shoulders, her own legs shaking under the strain. His weight was more than she remembered—his body heavier, more frail than the last time they had crossed paths. Every step she took felt like a betrayal, the distance between them and the rest of the Resistance growing with each painful movement.
But then, a voice broke through the silence.
"Élodie!"
It was Luc. Her heart lurched in her chest, relief flooding through her veins as he stepped into view, his face grim but determined. Without a second thought, he rushed forward, taking one of Vincent's arms from her and supporting him on the other side.
"We're not out of this yet," Luc muttered, his voice low but sharp. He looked at Élodie, and for the first time since she had seen him tonight, his eyes softened. But the concern was quickly replaced with urgency. "We need to move. Now."
They moved quickly through the narrow alley, Luc and Élodie guiding Vincent as quietly as they could. The night felt oppressive, the shadows all-encompassing. Élodie's mind raced. What was she doing? Why had she risked everything for him? For Vincent? Hadn't the war taught her that loyalties were fleeting, that everything could fall apart in an instant?
Her breath quickened as the distant sound of Gestapo soldiers grew closer. Panic threatened to overtake her, but she clenched her jaw, refusing to succumb to fear.
They reached the end of the alley, where the old chapel loomed in the distance, its stone walls weathered and silent. The Resistance safe house was nearby—if they could just make it there, they might have a chance to regroup.
But fate, as it always seemed to do in times like this, had other plans.
A sharp shout rang through the night, and then the unmistakable sound of boots pounding against the cobblestones reached her ears.
Too late.
Luc didn't hesitate. "Élodie, you go! I'll hold them off!" he shouted, his voice urgent but steady.
"No, Luc, we can't—"
"I'm giving you a chance. Don't waste it."
Torn between her loyalty to Luc and her duty to Vincent, Élodie hesitated for only a moment, before nodding. She wasn't going to let him die for nothing.
Gripping Vincent's arm tighter, she pushed forward, her pulse racing as they ran for the chapel. Her every step felt heavy, but she didn't stop. They were close—so close.
The chapel doors were old, heavy, but they creaked open under her touch. She pushed Vincent inside, his weight becoming unbearable with each passing second. The door slammed behind them, the muffled sounds of the Gestapo soldiers getting closer, but Élodie had no time to think. She couldn't afford to let herself doubt, not when Vincent was still alive, not when there was still a chance to make things right.
She turned to him, her heart aching as she caught sight of the pain in his eyes. "You're going to be okay," she whispered desperately.
Vincent's lips parted in a silent response, his breath labored. But before he could speak, the door rattled as if someone were trying to break it down.
Outside, the battle for survival was just beginning.