Chapter 107 Harper
Harper
The cabin seemed smaller with just the two of us inside, the walls holding the weight of everything we’d survived. Outside, the forest whispered, the world still dangerous, still waiting—but in here, there was only him.
Carter eased down onto the couch, his arm looping around my waist to pull me with him. I curled against him without hesitation, my head tucked under his chin, the steady rise and fall of his chest grounding me.
For the first time in days, I let my body relax. The fear still lingered, sharp at the edges, but his warmth dulled it, soothed it, until all I felt was the thrum of his heartbeat against my cheek.
“You should sleep,” he murmured, his voice low, gravelly with exhaustion.
I tipped my head back to look at him, brushing my fingers along the stubble on his jaw. “Only if you do.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth, the kind of smile I hadn’t seen since before the warehouse. It wasn’t forced, wasn’t sharp—it was real, small and quiet, like a promise.
He leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead, lingering there as though he could breathe me in. “Together,” he whispered against my skin.
The word settled deep inside me, easing the tightness in my chest. I burrowed closer, letting the fire’s warmth and his body heat lull me. My hand stayed fisted in his shirt, like if I let go he might vanish again.
But he didn’t.
Even when his breathing slowed, even when sleep tugged at both of us, Carter held me like I was the only anchor he had left. And I realized maybe that was true—maybe we were both anchors, keeping each other from drifting too far into the dark.
As my eyes closed, a fragile peace slipped in. The world outside was still broken, still dangerous. But in this moment, wrapped in Carter’s arms, I believed in something stronger than fear.
I believed in us.