HARPER #2
Harper's chest tightened. She could already picture this Lila—scared, isolated, probably blaming herself for whatever had happened.
The same hollow look Harper had seen in her own mirror years ago, before she'd learned to bury those feelings beneath layers of professional competence and emotional distance.
"I suppose I do have vacation time available," she heard herself saying, though part of her wanted to snatch the words back. "How long would you expect this assignment to take?"
"Hard to say, dear. Healing happens on its own timeline." Gerri's smile returned, brighter than before. "I can pick you up here tomorrow morning and escort you to the town. It's not on any maps, so you'll need a guide."
Bella frowned slightly. "Not on maps? That's... unusual."
Harper felt that strange electric shimmer in the air again, stronger this time. Something about this situation felt significant in ways she couldn't grasp, as if invisible threads were weaving around her, pulling her toward a destiny she couldn't see.
"Many shifter communities prefer isolation," Harper said, her years of working with local shifters here bleeding through.
Gerri nodded approvingly. "Exactly. So, shall we say nine o'clock tomorrow morning? That should give you time to pack and make arrangements."
The weight of the decision pressed down on Harper's chest. This was insane—dropping everything to help strangers in a town that didn't exist on maps, guided by a woman whose eyes seemed to shift colors.
Every instinct screamed that she was walking into something far more complicated than a simple counseling assignment.
But Lila's face—a face Harper had never seen but could somehow imagine—haunted her thoughts. Scared, wounded, probably convinced she was broken beyond repair.
"Alright," Harper said, the words feeling both inevitable and terrifying. "I'll do it."
Gerri's smile could have powered the entire community center. "Wonderful! Don't worry about the details—everything has a way of working out when it's meant to." Gerri turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and Harper? Pack for mountain weather. It can get quite... intense up there."
After Gerri left, clicking across the linoleum with the same decisive confidence she'd entered with, Bella turned to Harper with barely contained excitement.
"Thank you for doing this. I have a feeling this will be exactly the change of pace you need. Maybe you can even enjoy the mountain town a bit while you're there?"
Harper gathered her things. "I doubt I'll have time to relax, but I'll try my best to take some time for myself if I can."
Even as she said it, Harper knew it was a lie. She didn't know how to take time for herself—had never learned that particular skill. But something about the promise felt important, as if she were making a commitment not just to Bella, but to some part of herself she'd forgotten existed.
The afternoon sun slanted through the windows as Harper headed for the door, already mentally cataloging everything she needed to accomplish before tomorrow morning.
Pack clothes suitable for mountain weather.
Call Dr. Morrison about covering her sessions.
Be open-minded about this spontaneous assignment in the mountains with a shifter community.
Twenty minutes later, Harper's key turned in the lock with the same hollow click that had greeted her every evening for the past six months.
The sound echoed through her small house—a tidy two-bedroom in a neighborhood where young professionals convinced themselves they were building something meaningful.
The silence hit her like a physical weight as she stepped inside, her work bag sliding off her shoulder to land on the hardwood floor with a soft thud.
Six months ago, this same entrance would have been filled with Matt's voice calling from the kitchen, asking about her day or complaining about his latest client.
The memory felt both distant and immediate, like pressing on a bruise that had never quite healed.
Six months ago, everything seemed manageable.
She'd had her routine down to a science: morning sessions with her private practice clients, afternoons at the community center, weekends split between volunteering and whatever Matt had planned. It felt productive and purposeful. Like she was building a life that mattered.
Harper kicked off her shoes and surveyed the living room that still looked exactly as it had the day Matt moved his things out.
Same cream-colored walls, same secondhand furniture arranged with careful precision, same stack of psychology journals on the coffee table that she never seemed to have time to read.
The only difference was the absence—no guitar propped against the wall, no pile of his books creating precarious towers on every surface, no warm body sprawling across the couch complaining about his day.
The memory of their final fight surfaced unbidden as she walked toward the kitchen. Matt had been sitting at her small dining table, his fingers drumming against the wood in the way that always meant he was building up to something important.
"Harper, we need to talk about priorities."
She could still see the earnest expression on his face, the way he'd leaned forward like he was delivering wisdom instead of an ultimatum.