Chapter 6
1473 Words
The rain came hard the next morning, a pounding rhythm that shook the roof tiles of the old stone cottage nestled in the mountains. The world outside was a cold blur of grey, soaked earth, and the sharp scent of pine. Inside, Sofia crouched near the hearth, feeding the fire scraps of dry wood, trying to drive the chill out of the small room.
James lay on the bed behind her, still pale, his chest rising and falling with the shallow rhythm of exhaustion. Though the infection in his leg was easing—thanks to the herbs one of the Partisan women had given her—he had not yet woken. And with each hour, the weight in her chest grew heavier.
Marco had left just before dawn, disappearing with the others into the forest for a mission he wouldn’t speak of. Before leaving, he’d clasped Sofia’s hand tighter than he had in years. “Be careful,” he said, eyes flickering to James. “If the Germans find him here—find you here—it will mean death.”
“I know,” she whispered.
He didn’t ask why she was doing this. Maybe he already knew. Maybe he saw it in her face—what she hadn’t yet said aloud, not even to herself.
She poured water into a tin cup, crossed the room, and sat beside James. The firelight touched his face in gentle hues—his jaw shadowed by stubble, the curve of his lips still etched with tension, even in sleep. She brushed a lock of damp hair from his forehead.
“You have to wake up soon,” she murmured. “I don’t think I can do this alone.”
As if answering her, James stirred. A low groan escaped him, and his eyelids fluttered.
“James?” She leaned forward, her heart suddenly thundering.
His eyes opened slowly. Confused at first, unfocused. Then they settled on her. “Sofia?”
Relief spilled through her in a wave. “Yes. I’m here.”
He blinked, his throat working as he tried to speak. She helped him drink, holding the tin to his lips. He drank greedily, then coughed.
“Where…?”
“We made it to the camp. You’ve been asleep two days.”
His gaze swept the room, then came back to her. “You stayed.”
She nodded. “I couldn’t leave you.”
He tried to smile, but pain twisted his face. “Lucky for me.”
She laughed softly, brushing her fingers over the back of his hand. “Don’t move too much. You lost a lot of blood.”
“Couldn’t have made it without you.”
“You’d have done the same.”
He held her gaze, something unspoken passing between them. She looked away first.
“I need to check your leg,” she said.
She peeled back the blanket and the bandages. The wound had closed a little more, no longer angry and red. The herbs were working. She cleaned it carefully, listening to the rain tapping against the window. James didn’t flinch. When she looked up, he was watching her.
“Are we safe here?” he asked, voice hoarse.
“For now. The Germans haven’t pushed this far yet, but they’re close. Marco’s gone with the others—they’re trying to slow the next wave of movement.”
His jaw tensed. “You shouldn’t be here.”
She straightened. “I chose to be.”
“Sofia, this is war. You don’t belong in the middle of it.”
“I didn’t belong in a palace pretending the world wasn’t falling apart either.”
That silenced him. Outside, thunder cracked like cannon fire across the valley.
“I’m not who I was a month ago,” she said quietly. “Maybe I never was.”
James didn’t answer, but something softened in his eyes. He reached out, his hand closing over hers.
“I wish I’d met you in another life,” he whispered. “A quiet one. One without this.”
“Don’t say that.” She gripped his hand. “This is the life we have. And you’re still in it.”
A knock rattled the door, and Sofia jerked to her feet, heart racing.
“It’s me,” came a low voice—Maria, one of the Partisan messengers.
Sofia opened the door. The girl stepped inside, soaked through and shivering.
“They’re coming,” she said breathlessly. “Germans. Through the south ridge. We think they know there’s a camp.”
“How long?” Sofia asked.
“Hours. Maybe less.”
She glanced at James, who was already trying to sit up. “We’ll have to move him.”
“There’s a place,” Maria said. “The old shepherd’s cave. Half a mile from here.”
“I’ll get him ready.”
Maria nodded and vanished as quickly as she’d come.
Sofia turned back to James. “We’re going to get you out. Can you walk?”
“Not far. But I’ll try.”
She found a thick stick to serve as a crutch, wrapped his leg in extra cloth, and helped him to his feet. He hissed in pain but didn’t protest.
They slipped out into the rain, the world washed in silver and grey. Fog clung to the treetops. The path to the cave was narrow and rocky, but Sofia guided him carefully, one arm around his waist, the other gripping his hand. He leaned heavily on her, his breath short, but he kept going.
The cave was hidden behind a curtain of ivy, dark and dry inside. She helped him settle on a pile of old hay, covered him in blankets, and knelt beside him.
“I’ll come back as soon as it’s safe,” she said.
James caught her wrist. “Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t leave me here alone.”
“I have to tell the others. They’ll need help evacuating.”
“Then I’ll come with you.”
“You’ll slow me down.”
“Then we stay together. Whatever happens.”
Sofia stared at him, soaked and shivering, his face pale, but his eyes burning with fierce light.
“All right,” she whispered. “Together.”
They stayed in the cave through the storm, listening to distant gunfire echo across the valley. Sofia tended to James’s wounds, and he told her about his life before the war—about the small cottage in Dorset, the way the sea smelled in the spring, his sister who used to sing while doing the dishes. She told him about her father’s library, her mother’s perfume, the grand balls she hated, and the way the stars looked over the vineyard when she was little.
Night came. They curled beside each other on the cave floor, their fingers entwined.
“Do you believe in fate?” she asked quietly.
He didn’t answer at first. Then: “I don’t know. Maybe I do now.”
She smiled against his shoulder.
The next morning, they woke to silence. No rain. No gunfire.
Sofia crept outside and scanned the horizon. Smoke rose in the distance—thin and curling. Her heart ached.
“I have to go check the camp,” she told James. “Just for a moment.”
“I’ll wait.”
She returned hours later, her face pale, her coat torn.
“They burned it,” she said, voice shaking. “The camp. They found it.”
James’s eyes darkened. “Did anyone survive?”
“Some. Marco wasn’t there when they came. He’s alive. Others too. But not all.”
He pulled her into his arms as she broke down, grief finally catching up to her.
Later, when her tears had dried and the fire was burning low, she whispered, “We’ll leave this place. Find somewhere safe. Maybe go north, across the border. Somewhere no one knows our names.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We will.”
In the days that followed, they gathered supplies, waited for news, and planned their escape. Marco returned once with food and information—routes, allies, dangers. He didn’t ask them to stay. He just clasped Sofia’s hand again, tighter this time.
“Be happy,” he told her. “That’s how we win.”
When they finally left the cave, it was dawn. The sky was painted in soft streaks of crimson and gold. The world felt changed, quieter somehow. James limped beside her, still wounded but stronger now. Sofia kept one hand on his arm, steadying him as they made their way down the mountain.
Behind them, war still raged. But ahead—just barely visible beyond the trees—was the promise of something new.
Together, they walked toward it.
- Writer
