Chapter 116 Carter
Carter
The forest erupted in chaos—shouts, gunfire, branches snapping under boots. Redwood pressed hard, their formation tightening as they tried to flank us.
“Left!” River’s command cut through the roar.
I pivoted, sighting down my scope. Two men broke from cover, rifles raised. I squeezed the trigger—one went down, the other staggered, clutching his side before Cyclone finished him with a clean shot.
The recoil jolted my shoulder, but I didn’t slow. Couldn’t. Every second counted.
Behind me, Harper stayed low, close enough I could feel her presence even in the smoke and gunpowder. I wanted to turn, to check her, to make sure fear wasn’t eating her alive—but I couldn’t afford the distraction. Redwood’s line was pressing, and if we faltered even once, we’d be buried.
A burst of fire cracked the bark inches from my head. I ducked hard, teeth clenched, ears ringing. Gideon swore, returning fire in a sharp, precise volley.
“Four left!” Cyclone barked.
Four. Manageable. We’d fought worse. But my muscles screamed, my lungs burned, and the weight of knowing Harper was right there—that was the heaviest burden of all.
I reloaded fast, the metallic click loud in the lull of shifting fire. My jaw tightened. Redwood thought fear would break us. Thought she was my weakness.
They were wrong.
I rose from cover, fired three rounds in controlled bursts. Two men dropped, the last two retreating deeper into the treeline. The forest fell quieter, smoke curling through the gaps where sunlight pierced.
For a moment, the silence held.
Then River’s voice: calm, sharp. “Clear—for now.”
I exhaled, lowering my rifle, every muscle trembling with the aftershock. My first glance wasn’t to the bodies or the treeline. It was to Harper.
She met my eyes, pale but steady, her chest heaving. And in that look, I felt it—she wasn’t breaking. Neither of us were.
Not today.