Chapter 92 Harper
Harper
The cabin was too quiet.
I paced the length of the living room, the old floorboards groaning under my bare feet. Every creak felt like a countdown, every gust of wind through the trees like a whisper of something gone wrong.
I tried to tell myself this was just another mission for him, just another op he would come back from. But deep down, I knew better. This wasn’t just about a mission. This was about me. My name. My life painted on some list I hadn’t chosen.
I pressed my hands together so tightly my knuckles burned. Carter had promised me always. He’d looked me in the eye and sworn he’d come back. And I believed him—God, I did—but belief didn’t stop the fear crawling up my throat.
I went to the window, peering out into the fog curling between the trees. I couldn’t see the road, couldn’t hear anything but my own heartbeat, loud and frantic.
What if this time was different?
I shook my head hard, whispering into the silence, “No. He’s coming back. He has to.”
The words steadied me for a moment, but only just. Because somewhere out there, gunfire was cracking, engines were roaring, and Carter was in the middle of it.
And I couldn’t do a damn thing but wait.
I curled into the chair by the fire, hugging my knees to my chest, clinging to the one truth I had left: no matter what Redwood threw at us, Carter wasn’t just fighting a battle.
He was fighting his way back to me.