Chapter 127 Harper
Harper
The moment Carter said gear up, the cabin shifted. The men moved with sharp purpose, checking weapons, loading mags, strapping on armor like it was second nature. The air grew heavy, electric, alive with the weight of what we were about to do.
I wasn’t a soldier. I had no rifle, no body armor worn smooth from years of use. But that didn’t mean I was powerless.
I followed Carter into the small back room where supplies were stacked—medical kits, spare gear, packs ready to go.
My fingers brushed over the edges of bandages and antiseptic bottles, and I began pulling what I could into a small bag.
Not much compared to what the men carried, but it was something.
Carter glanced at me over his shoulder, his rifle cradled in his hands. His eyes softened for a heartbeat when he saw what I was doing. “You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” I cut in, my voice quiet but firm.
He studied me a moment longer, then gave the smallest nod before turning back to his weapon. That nod meant more than any words—acceptance, trust.
I tucked the medical bag close, my hands steadier than they’d been all morning. Fear still sat in my chest, sharp and unyielding, but it didn’t control me. Not anymore.
When I stepped back into the main room, River gave me a small, acknowledging glance. Gideon handed me a flashlight without a word, as if he already expected I’d be part of this. Even Cyclone, with his wolfish grin, gave a short nod before snapping another shell into his rifle.
I wasn’t invisible anymore. I wasn’t a liability.
I was one of them.
My gaze found Carter across the room. He slid the strap of his rifle over his shoulder, his body coiled and ready for war. But when his eyes locked on mine, there was something else there—an anchor, a promise, a vow.
Together.
And for the first time, stepping into danger didn’t feel like losing myself.
It felt like finding my place.