Chapter 105 Harper
Harper
Inside the cabin, the world finally quieted. The fire still burned low in the hearth, casting shadows across the wood floor, but everything felt different now—less like a prison of waiting, more like a sanctuary because he was here.
Carter set his rifle against the wall, his movements heavy, deliberate. His shoulders sagged, the weight of the battle still clinging to him. But when his eyes found me again, some of that hardness melted.
I crossed the room without thinking, pressing my palms to his chest, needing to feel the steady thud of his heart under my hands. He covered them with his own, rough and warm, holding me there.
“You should rest,” I whispered, my voice trembling.
His mouth tipped into a wry half-smile. “Not until you do.”
The lump in my throat swelled. I shook my head, blinking fast. “I couldn’t sleep while you were gone. Every sound felt like—” My breath hitched. “I thought I’d lose you.”
He pulled me against him, arms wrapping so tight it stole the air from my lungs. “You’ll never lose me, Harper. Not now, not ever.” His voice was rough, but there was no hesitation. Just truth.
The tears came again, hot against his shirt, but this time they weren’t from fear. They were from relief so sharp it hurt.
I tilted my face up to him, my fingers brushing the dirt and blood at his jaw. His gaze burned into mine, fierce and unrelenting, but softer now too—like the storm had broken just enough to let me in.
And when his mouth found mine, it wasn’t desperate or frantic like before. It was steady, grounding, a kiss that told me more than words ever could.
That he was here. That we were still standing. That together wasn’t just a vow—it was the only way forward.
I clung to him, letting the kiss deepen, letting it anchor me after the long stretch of fear. For the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself believe we weren’t just surviving.
We were beginning again.