Chapter 117 Harper
Harper
The forest went quiet too fast. The gunfire stopped, the shouting cut off, and the silence that followed pressed heavily against my ears.
My chest heaved, lungs burning from smoke and fear, my knees still buried in the damp dirt where Carter had shoved me down. My fingers trembled, clenching in the earth as if I could hold myself steady by force alone.
Bodies lay scattered between the trees, dark shapes half-hidden in the fog. The sight turned my stomach, but I forced myself not to look away. This was the reality Carter lived in—the one I had stepped into when I said together.
My eyes found him instantly. He was already scanning the treeline, rifle steady, sweat and blood streaking his face. Every line of him screamed exhaustion, but his gaze never wavered. He looked back at me then, just for a second, and something inside me eased.
Because he hadn’t just fought for me—he’d fought with me. And I’d stayed. I hadn’t run.
The fear was still there, sharp and raw, but it wasn’t the only thing anymore. Strength curled in my chest, fragile but real, growing in the shadow of his steady presence.
I pushed to my feet, legs shaky, brushing dirt from my palms. Carter moved toward me, his eyes searching, his hand reaching for mine. The warmth of his grip steadied me more than anything else.
“I’m okay,” I whispered, though my voice shook.
His jaw tightened, but he nodded once, squeezing my hand like he didn’t quite believe me—but he wanted to.
And as I looked at him, scarred and relentless, I realized something deep in my bones: Redwood could send every man they had, and fear could scrape me raw every time, but I would keep standing.
Because Carter wasn’t my shield anymore. He was my partner.
And I wasn’t walking away.