Night had fallen by the time they left the cottage, the moon barely visible behind the thick clouds that had rolled in. The wind picked up, rustling the leaves of the trees, their shadows long and ominous under the dim light of the lanterns they carried. Every step they took felt like it echoed through the stillness, reminding them of the danger that lingered just beyond the horizon.
Élodie kept her eyes on the ground, her mind elsewhere. Every corner, every patch of shadow seemed to whisper of their past decisions—the people they had lost, the lives they had destroyed in the name of survival. She couldn't stop thinking about Vincent. His face, still so vivid in her memory, haunted her, reminding her of the cost of everything they were doing.
They walked in silence, their breaths quick and shallow as they approached the edge of the forest. Henri led the way, his pace steady but cautious. Luc was close behind him, his hand always hovering near his sidearm. Sophie kept pace with Élodie, her eyes scanning the path ahead, her face set in a determined expression.
Finally, they reached a clearing. Henri stopped abruptly, raising a hand in warning. The others halted behind him, their senses alert. They could hear the distant sound of boots crunching on the gravel path—not Gestapo, not yet—but a patrol nonetheless. The risk of moving through this area was too great now; they had to be careful.
Élodie's pulse quickened, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. The weight of the weapons hidden inside felt more present than ever. If the patrol came any closer, there would be no escape—not without a fight.
Luc leaned in closer, his voice barely a whisper. "Henri, where do we go from here?"
Henri glanced at him briefly before turning to Sophie. "We'll cut through the farmland. It's the safest route for now. But we need to move quickly. We can't afford to be discovered." His eyes shifted back to Élodie. "Stay sharp, everyone."
The tension hung in the air like a storm waiting to break. They began to move again, slipping from shadow to shadow, taking cover behind every tree and rock as they made their way through the woods. The crunch of boots grew louder, then softer, as if the patrol was closing in on their location but hadn't quite found them. Élodie's heart pounded in her chest with every passing second.
As they neared the edge of the woods, Henri held up a hand again, signaling for them to stop. He crouched low, scanning the path ahead. Through the trees, Élodie could see the faint outline of a barn in the distance. It was their next stop—a safehouse just on the other side of the clearing.
But there was something wrong. The barn door was ajar, and a small figure stood just inside, silhouetted against the dim light. It was too quiet—too still.
Henri turned to them, his face grim. "Something's not right. Stay behind me."
With slow, calculated movements, they made their way toward the barn. Every step was a risk, every breath a potential betrayal. The barn door creaked under the strain of the wind, but no one dared to make a sound.
Élodie felt a strange sense of déjà vu, as if this moment had played out before—her heart heavy, the fear creeping up her spine. But she couldn't afford to linger in the past. Not now.
As they reached the door, Henri pushed it open with a gentle nudge. The room inside was dim, lit only by a few scattered candles. The figure standing inside was unmistakable—another Resistance fighter, this time wearing the familiar green jacket of the network.
But it wasn't a familiar face.
The man turned as they entered, his eyes sharp, studying them with an intensity that made Élodie's stomach tighten. He was young, maybe in his mid-twenties, with dark, disheveled hair and a scowl that spoke of long nights and even longer days.
"You're late," he said, his voice low but not unfriendly. "We've been waiting for you."
Henri stepped forward, giving a small nod. "We had trouble on the road."
The man, still wary, eyed them all in turn, then turned to the back of the barn, where a small table was set up with maps and communication devices. "It's not just the road. Word's getting out faster than we expected. The Gestapo are moving in on our hideouts faster now. But we've got new information. You'll want to see this."
Élodie's curiosity piqued, she stepped forward, her eyes scanning the room. The man spread out the map, tracing a route with his finger.
"We've got a new supply drop location," he explained. "But it's more than that. We've intercepted some intel. The Gestapo are planning something big in the coming days. We think it's a raid on the southern regions, maybe even a sweep through Saint-Céleste."
Sophie's face paled at the mention of Saint-Céleste, her hometown, where the flames of rebellion had been kindled in secret. Élodie's stomach churned at the thought. If the Gestapo were planning a raid there, the cost could be devastating.
Henri's voice was firm, his resolve set. "We'll need to move again—soon. If the Gestapo are coming for Saint-Céleste, we can't risk them catching anyone off guard."
Élodie nodded, her eyes shifting to the map once more. A part of her was already planning the next steps in her mind. The mission had changed once again. But that was the way of war—constant shifts, endless uncertainty.
Luc caught her eye. "We need to hurry."
But as they prepared to move, Élodie couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time. Every decision seemed to carry weight, every step they took pushed them closer to an uncertain future.
But she would keep moving. She had to.
Because in the end, there was no other choice.