Chapter 1: The Broken Wing

France, Winter 1944

  The frigid wind howled through the dense forest, carrying with it the faint echoes of distant gunfire. Snow blanketed the ground, muffling the crunch of footsteps and leaving the world in eerie silence. Captain Thomas Grayson staggered forward, clutching his wounded side. Blood seeped through the hastily wrapped bandage, staining his uniform and freezing in the bitter cold. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a battle against the pain that coursed through his body. 

He didn't know how far he had run since the ambush. His unit had been caught in a trap just outside the village of Saint Etienne, a small, nondescript hamlet nestled in the French countryside. The Germans had been relentless, and the skirmish had quickly turned into a massacre. Thomas had barely escaped with his life, his comrades either dead or captured. Now, he was alone, injured, and far behind enemy lines. 

The towering pine trees around him offered little comfort. Their skeletal branches swayed in the wind, casting long shadows across the snow. As he stumbled forward,  his vision blurred. The cold was seeping into his bones, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer without help.

  Then, through the haze, he saw it- a silhoutte rising from the trees. At first, he thought it was a hallucination, another cruel trick of his fading mind.  But as he drew closer, the shape became clearer. It was a convent, its stone walls weathered but sturdy, standing defiantly against the desolation around it. The bell tower reached toward the gray sky, and faint candlelight glowed from the arched windows. 

Hope surged through him.

 Summoning the last of his strength, Thomas limped toward the heavy wooden doors. He raised his fist to knock, but his vision swam, and he collapsed against the cold stoned wall. Inside the convent, Sister Evangeline sat in the chapel, her hands clasped tightly in prayer. The flickering candles cast soft light across her features, illuminating the quiet determination etched into her face. The convent of Saint Michel had been her sanctuary for the past three years, a place where she had tried to bury her past and find peace amidst the chaos of war. But peace was a fragile thing, and the war had a way of seeping through even the thickest walls. 

The other nuns had retired for the evening, but Evangeline often stayed up late, finding solace in the stillness of the chapel. Tonight, however, her prayers were interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. Visitors were rare, and unexpected ones even more so. She rose quickly, her footsteps echoing in the empty hall as she approached the door. When she opened it, the sight before her took her breath away. A man- an Allied soldier by the looks of his uniform- lay sumped against the wall, his face pale and streaked with dirt. Blood stained his side, and his breath was shallow. 

Evangeline's first instinct was to call for help, but she hesitated. Harboring a soldier is dangerous, especially in a region under German patrol. The convent had managed to remain untouched by the war so far, but sheltering an Allied soldier could bring ruin upon them all.

And yet, she couldn't leave him to die. 

Swallowing her fear, she knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Monsieur?  can you hear me?" His eyes fluttered open, revealing piercing blue eyes clouded with pain. "Help me..." he rasped, his voice barely audible. Evangeline glanced over his shoulder, half expecting to see shadows of German soldiers approaching. The forest remained still, but she knew they had to move quickly. She slipped her arms under his and, with more strength than she realized she had, hauled him inside. 

Thomas awake to the faint sound of whispers and the warmth of the fire. His surroundings came into focus slowly- the rough- hewn beams of the ceiling, the faint scent of lavender, and the soft glow of a lantern beside the bed. He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his side forced him back down.

"Be still," a gentle voice said. 

He turned his head and saw a woman sitting beside him. She wore the black and white habit of a nun, her face framed by the crisp lines of her veil. Her features were soft but strong, her brown eyes steady and calm.

"Where...?" he croaked, his throat dry.

"You're in the convent of Saint Michel," she replied, placing her hand on his arm to keep him still. "You were injured. I've dressed your wounds, but you've lost a lot of blood. You'll need to rest." 

Thomas closed his eyes, relief washing over him.  "Thank you," he whispered. The nun hesitated, her gaze lingering on him. "It was not an easy decision," she admiited. "Bringing you here puts us all at risk. The Germans patrol this area frequently. If they find you..." "I'll leave as soon as I can," Thomas said quickly, forcing himself to meet her gaze. "I didn't mean to bring trouble. I just... had nowhere else to go." 

Her expression softened. "Rest for now," she said. "We can decide what to do in the morning," 

As she rose to leave, Thomas spoke again. "What's your name?" She paused, her hand on the doorframe. "Sister Evangeline," she said quietly. "Thank you, Sister Evangeline," he said, his voice heavy with gratitude. 

She nodded, then slipped out of the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts. 

For the first time in weeks, Thomas allowed himself to relax. The hoorors of war still loomed outside the convent walls, but for now, he had found a fragile sanctuary. And though he didn't yet know it, the woman who had saved his life would soon become his greatest ally and his greatest challenge.