Chapter 33 Harper
Harper
The coffee Carter set in front of me was strong enough to jolt the dead awake.
My hands curled around the mug, grateful for the warmth, though I barely tasted the first sip.
My attention kept drifting to the closed door where River and Gideon had disappeared, leaving Carter pacing like a caged animal.
I’d known him long enough to understand the signs—jaw tight, shoulders stiff, every line of his body wound to breaking. He wasn’t just worried. He was hiding something.
“They didn’t come here just to check on me,” I said finally, breaking the silence.
His back went rigid. He didn’t turn. “They wanted to make sure you were safe.”
Safe. The word should have been a comfort, but the way he said it felt like a lie. I set the mug down with a soft thud. “Carter, look at me.”
When he did, it was like staring into a storm. The man who had carried me out of hell, who had held me while I shook apart, was here in front of me—but part of him was still on that battlefield, already fighting enemies I couldn’t see.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked quietly.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “You’ve been through enough. You don’t need the weight of this on your shoulders.”
My chest tightened. “Don’t you get it? The weight is already on my shoulders. I was there. I heard him. You’re marked now. Those words don’t just disappear because you don’t repeat them.”
His jaw clenched, muscles ticking in his cheek.
I stood, crossing to him before he could shut me out completely. “I can’t be the woman you protect and never trust. If this is going to work—if we’re going to work—I need the truth.”
For a long moment, the only sound was the low hum of the fridge and my own pounding heart. Then his hands came up, cupping my face like I was the only steady thing in his world. His voice was rough when it came.
“They weren’t after just him, Harper. He was part of something bigger. And whoever’s pulling the strings? They still have your name.”
The room tilted, my stomach dropping like I’d stepped off a cliff. But underneath the fear was a spark of something fiercer—resolve.
“Then I guess we fight them,” I whispered, my fingers curling over his wrists.
Shock flickered across his face, quickly chased by something softer, almost reverent. “You’re not afraid?”
I managed a shaky smile. “Terrified. But not alone.”
And in his arms, with the storm raging just outside our door, I realized this was the truest thing I’d ever said.