Chapter 139 Harper
Harper
The building was a hive. Sirens blared outside, their blue-and-red lights flashing against the broken windows, and uniformed officers flooded in like water breaking through a dam. Medics hurried past us with gurneys and supply bags, their voices sharp with triage codes.
I stood rooted for a moment, the rifle still warm in my hands, watching Redwood get handed off to the uniforms. He didn’t resist, didn’t flinch when they shoved him into the back of a van. His smile lingered, and I hated that more than the cuffs around his wrists.
“Harper.” Carter’s voice anchored me again. He tugged the rifle gently from my grip, lowering it until it hung by his side. “You’re done. Let the rest of them handle it now.”
Done. The word felt foreign, almost dangerous. My body was still braced for another attack, another shadow, another ghost in the corner. But the corridor was full of our people now, not Redwood’s.
A medic brushed past and paused, giving me a once-over. “She needs fluids,” he muttered to Carter. “Maybe oxygen.”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically. My throat was raw. “Others need it more.”
Carter just arched a brow at me, the one that meant don’t push me right now. I didn’t argue, because his hand was still warm against the small of my back, guiding me toward the exit.
Outside, the air hit me like a tidal wave—cool, damp, filled with exhaust and chaos. Reporters had already swarmed the barricades, microphones and cameras shoved forward like weapons of their own.
“Is it true Redwood has been captured?”
“Ms. Vale, were you inside when it happened?”
“Did the Golden Team execute a kill operation or bring him out alive?”
Their voices collided into a storm, and for a split second, it was too much—the cameras, the questions, the flashes of light. They didn’t see the blood under my fingernails or the nightmares still clawing my chest. They just wanted a soundbite.
Carter shifted forward, his body between me and the wall of noise. “Back off,” he growled, and the line of agents behind him reinforced the order, pushing the crowd back.
Gideon limped down the steps beside me, his bandages seeping through but his chin high. “Let them shout,” he muttered. “We’ve got the proof. That’s louder than any headline.”
I looked past the reporters to the waiting vans where boxes of evidence were being loaded: hard drives, files, monitors. Every face I’d seen on those screens would finally be given a chance to be heard.
A shiver ran through me—not fear this time, but release. We’d dragged Redwood into the light. The rest was going to be long, messy, and painful, but it was no longer hidden.
Carter’s hand closed around mine, fingers locking tight. “It’s over,” he said. Not a question. A promise.
And for the first time in months, I let myself believe him.