The hours passed slowly, the night stretching longer than it had any right to. Élodie's body felt heavy, as though she had been sitting at Vincent's side for days instead of mere hours. Sophie had insisted on staying with them, refusing to leave until Vincent was stable, but Élodie could see the exhaustion weighing on her. The medic's hands moved with a careful precision, but each movement seemed slower than the last, and Élodie feared that even Sophie's skill had its limits.
The farmhouse had settled into an eerie stillness, the only sounds now the occasional creak of the old wooden beams and the steady, rhythmic ticking of a clock somewhere in the back of the room. The silence wasn't comforting. It was suffocating.
Vincent's breathing had softened, though his body still trembled under the fever that ravaged him. Every so often, his eyes fluttered open, but they never stayed for long, and when they did, they seemed lost, distant. He wasn't here with her, not in the way that she needed him to be. His mind was far away, locked in the turmoil of his injury, his life hanging by the thinnest of threads.
Élodie clenched her fists, willing herself not to cry, not to show the cracks that were beginning to form in her resolve. The war had already taken so much. She couldn't—she refused to—let it take him too. Not after everything they had been through. Not after all they had fought for.
But what was the point of fighting if they were all destined to be swallowed by this endless nightmare?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft shuffle of footsteps. Luc had returned, his face shadowed, his posture stiff with some unspoken burden. He looked at her for a moment before turning to Sophie, his voice low, edged with frustration.
"Anything?" he asked, though they all knew the answer.
Sophie didn't look up from her work, but her voice was steady. "He's stable for now. But he's still in danger. The blood loss is severe, and the fever... it's making things worse. We need to get him to a proper medical facility."
A heavy silence settled between them. Luc didn't say anything, but Élodie could see the struggle in his eyes. He knew what that meant. It meant they would have to move him—take him out of hiding, into the open again. The very thing they had fought so hard to avoid.
"You know we can't do that," Luc finally said, his voice harsh. "We can't risk being spotted."
Sophie's hands paused, but she didn't meet his gaze. "You don't have a choice, Luc. If you want him to survive, you'll have to take that risk."
Élodie's heart sank at the thought of exposing themselves again. It had been months since they had been forced to run, forced to hide, to live in constant fear. And now, it seemed like they were back to square one—like the past few months had been nothing but a cruel illusion of safety.
She stood up slowly, feeling the weight of the decision pressing down on her chest. She couldn't bear the thought of losing Vincent now—not after everything they had endured.
"We don't have to go far," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "We'll find a way to get him to safety. We'll make sure we're not seen."
Luc looked at her, his eyes dark with the burden of the choices before them. "You know it's not that simple, Élodie. You can't just disappear into the night without a plan. We need time to think this through."
"We don't have time," she replied, her voice rising with urgency. "Vincent doesn't have time."
Sophie finally looked up, her gaze steady and practical. "She's right. We can't wait any longer."
The room was heavy with the weight of the unspoken, the impossible decision hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break. Luc looked between the two women, his expression unreadable, but Élodie saw the resignation in his eyes. He knew there was no other option.
"Fine," he said, his voice quiet but resolute. "We'll move him. But we do it carefully. We move fast, and we move quietly."
Élodie nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew this was their only chance. If they stayed here, they would be caught. If they moved, they might survive. It was a gamble, but it was the only one left.
They worked quickly, the tension thick in the air as they prepared to move Vincent. Sophie and Luc handled him carefully, making sure not to jar his fragile body, while Élodie gathered what little they could carry. The bags were packed with haste, but there was no time to waste.
The farmhouse had become too dangerous. They couldn't stay here any longer. They needed to disappear into the night, and fast.
With Vincent secured as best as they could, they moved toward the back door, the night air cool against Élodie's skin. Luc led the way, his eyes scanning the darkened horizon, while Sophie followed closely, carrying a small medical kit. Élodie stayed close to Vincent, her hand resting on his arm as they made their way down the narrow path behind the house.
The world outside was quiet, almost unnaturally so. The only sounds were their footsteps, the occasional rustle of leaves, and the distant cry of an owl. But the silence felt ominous, like the calm before a storm.
And then, as if to confirm her fears, a distant shout cut through the stillness.
"Search the area! They can't have gone far!"
The words were clear, unmistakable, and full of menace.
Élodie's heart skipped a beat, and she instinctively tightened her grip on Vincent's arm, willing him to wake, to somehow fight through the fever and the pain.
Luc's face hardened as he heard the shouts too. "Move!" he hissed. "Now!"
They quickened their pace, hearts racing, the sound of their pursuers growing louder by the second. They were running out of time, running out of options. And with every step they took, the world seemed to close in on them, the dark shapes of soldiers looming on the horizon.
But they couldn't stop. Not now.
The war was still raging, and they were still caught in its wake. But Élodie refused to let it claim her—and Vincent—without one last fight.