Chapter 137 Harper
Harper
My knees ached from the concrete, my hands sticky with Gideon’s blood, but I forced myself upright. The hallway stretched ahead, choked with smoke and echoing with gunfire, yet the fear that had once paralyzed me no longer held me still.
Carter moved like a storm at the front, every burst from his rifle precise, controlled.
River flowed at his side, clearing angles, while Cyclone covered the flank with brutal efficiency.
These men fought like they had nothing left to lose.
And I knew they were married with children. But they were here because of me.
And me—I wasn’t a soldier, but I had earned my place.
I slung the medical bag back over my shoulder, adjusting its weight. Gideon gave me a tight nod, his face pale but his grip steady on his pistol. “Go,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll hold until you’re back.”
I squeezed his shoulder once, then pushed forward, falling in just behind Carter. His hand brushed mine briefly—fast, sure—before he surged ahead again. The touch was enough to steady me.
Smoke burned my lungs, but I kept moving, every step a choice. I wasn’t here to be hidden. I wasn’t here to be caged. I was here to fight in the way I could, to stand beside the man who had given everything for me.
Redwood wanted me afraid. They wanted me broken.
Instead, they had given me fire.
Another door loomed at the end of the hall, heavy and locked. The kind of door that promised answers—or hell. River signaled the team down, Cyclone already pulling a charge from his vest.
I crouched low, clutching the strap of my bag, heart hammering, but my hands didn’t shake anymore. Not the way they had before.
Because I wasn’t stepping into that room as prey.
I was stepping in as Harper—alive, unbroken, and ready to finish this.