Chapter 145 Harper
Harper
Morning light crept through the thin curtains, pale and hesitant, like it didn’t quite belong in a place that had seen so much darkness. I stirred against the steady rise and fall of Carter’s chest, his arm heavy around me, his hand still curled possessively against my hip.
For one fragile moment, I let myself just be. No Redwood. No files. No cameras flashing or faces haunting my dreams. Just the sound of Carter’s heartbeat beneath my ear, steady and strong, like it was synced to mine.
“You’re awake,” he murmured, voice rough from sleep.
“Barely,” I whispered, smiling into his skin.
His fingers traced lazy circles against my side, each one grounding me more. “I meant what I said last night.”
I tilted my head, meeting his eyes. They were clearer now, softer, but still carrying that storm he never quite let go of. “Which part?”
“All of it,” he said simply. “That I can’t lose you. That you’re mine. That you’re stronger than you even realize.”
Emotion swelled so thick in my chest I couldn’t speak. Instead, I leaned up and kissed him—slow, lingering, a reminder that we’d both found something worth fighting for.
A knock at the door broke the moment, followed by Gideon’s gravelly voice. “Lovebirds, if you’re done, we’ve got work to do.”
Carter groaned, dropping his head back against the pillow. I laughed, the sound shaky but real.
When I stood, pulling on my clothes, the weight of reality settled back on my shoulders. Redwood was in chains, yes—but his network wasn’t gone. Those faces were still out there, waiting.
Carter came up behind me, pressing a kiss to my temple as his hand found mine again. “We’ll face it,” he said simply.
I nodded. “Together.”
And with that, we stepped out of the room, ready to join the team around the table once more.
The war room smelled like stale coffee and determination. By the time Carter and I joined, the table was already covered in files, laptops blinking, maps pinned with bright markers. No one looked rested, but everyone looked ready.
Cyclone shoved a stack toward me as soon as I sat. “You’ve got sharp eyes. Help me cross-reference these names with the shipping manifests.”
I glanced down at the pages—rows of numbers and coded entries—and forced my mind to focus. Carter stayed close, his presence a steady hum beside me.
Gideon rapped his knuckles against the table, his voice gravelly but sharp.
“Here’s the truth. Redwood was just a cog.
A mean, vicious one, but still just a cog.
His files confirm it—he was moving people, money, weapons for a bigger network.
That network doesn’t fold just because we’ve got him in chains. ”
River leaned forward, stabbing a finger at the map. “These sites… they’re still active. Drop points, safehouses, staging grounds. If half of this is real, we’ve got weeks, maybe months of operations to run down.”
Faron whistled low. “So we cut off one head, and a whole damn hydra’s waiting.”
The words made my stomach tighten. Redwood had been terrifying, but at least he was a face, a name. What waited behind him felt bigger, faceless, harder to fight.
I pulled one of the files closer, flipping to the back. A photograph slid free—grainy, taken from a distance. A man in a dark coat stepping out of a sleek car, his face half-shadowed, his posture radiating command. Not Redwood. Someone else.
“Who’s this?” I asked, sliding the photo to the center.
The room stilled. Gideon picked it up, frowning. “That’s not in the briefings we’ve seen.”
Cyclone muttered, “Because Redwood wasn’t the top. This guy… this is who we’re dealing with next.”
A shiver ran down my spine. Whoever he was, the photo alone made my skin crawl. Redwood’s smugness, his cruelty—this man looked worse. Controlled. Cold. Patient.
Carter’s jaw tightened beside me. He leaned over the photo, his voice low and certain. “Then he’s ours.”
The team exchanged glances, the unspoken vow settling heavy in the room.
We’d won one war. But a bigger one was already on the horizon.
Cyclone flipped the photo over, scanning the scrawled notes on the back. “There’s a name here. Not Redwood’s handwriting. Looks like… Luthor.”
The word landed heavy in the room.
River leaned forward, reading it again. “Luthor.”
Gideon’s expression darkened. “I’ve heard whispers. Arms broker. Slippery as hell. Deals in everything from stolen intel to human lives. Nobody’s ever pinned him down long enough to prove it.”
A chill slid through me. I stared at the grainy photo—at the man stepping out of his car like he owned the world—and felt something cold coil in my stomach. Redwood had been cruel, arrogant, reckless. But this man looked deliberate. Calculated.
Carter’s jaw flexed, his voice low. “If Redwood answered to him, then Luthor is the one pulling the strings. And if he thinks we’ll stop here…” He shook his head, eyes burning. “He’s wrong.”
Silence settled across the table, heavier than gunfire. No one needed to say it out loud—we all knew this fight wasn’t over. Redwood was a victory. But Luthor… Luthor was war.
I drew in a shaky breath, sliding the photo closer, committing every shadowed line of his face to memory. “Then Luthor is next.”