Chapter 36 Harper
Harper
The table was covered in papers and phones, but it might as well have been covered in knives for the way Carter bristled. Every name, every number, every whispered detail felt like a blade angled toward me.
I stayed wrapped in the blanket, but I wasn’t invisible. I caught every word. Compromised. Network. Leverage. Words that carried weight enough to crush me if I let them.
What scared me wasn’t the intel—it was Carter. The tension rolling off him in waves, the way his voice turned sharp when River suggested a safe house, the near desperation in his eyes when he said, 'I stayed with him.'
Part of me wanted to curl up tighter, let him fight this battle on his own. He was a soldier, a wall of iron and fire. I was just… me.
But another part—the louder, fiercer part—refused to shrink.
Because this wasn’t just about Carter fighting for me. It was about me standing with him.
When River and Gideon finally left, the apartment fell into silence except for the hum of the fridge and the faint tick of the clock on the wall. Carter lingered by the table, arms braced, head bowed like the weight of the world was pressing him down.
I slipped from the couch and crossed to him, bare feet silent against the floor. My fingers brushed his arm, tentative, before I spoke. “You can’t keep all of this locked inside.”
He lifted his head, eyes shadowed, jaw tight. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“I know.” My throat tightened, but I held his gaze. “But if you lock me out, you’re not protecting me—you’re breaking me. I need to know what’s coming, Carter. I need to fight this with you.”
For a long moment, he just stared, as if he were seeing me for the first time. Then his hand came up, covering mine where it rested on his arm. His grip was warm, steady, but there was a tremor in it too.
“You don’t know what that means, Harper,” he said roughly.
“Yes,” I whispered, my voice trembling but clear. “I do. It means I choose you. No matter what storm is coming, I’m not letting you carry it alone.”
His breath caught, his thumb tracing over my knuckles like he was memorizing them. And for the first time since the warehouse, I saw the soldier’s armor crack—not with fury, but with something achingly tender.
Maybe I was marked. Maybe the danger was circling closer. But I wasn’t the terrified woman in chains anymore. Not with Carter.
Because if he was willing to fight for me, then I damn well was going to fight for him too.