Chapter 7 #3
God, she wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that they could solve this case, stop the killer, save future victims—all without her becoming another body with symbols carved into the skin.
But she’d seen the note. I’ll be ready soon.
Time was running out.
“I should try to sleep,” Harper said, hugging herself a little tighter. “Even though I know I won’t.”
“Nightmares?”
“Always.” She turned on her heel and headed toward her bedroom, then paused. “Silas? Thank you. For...all of this.”
“That’s what partners do,” he said softly.
There was that word again. With a subtle nod, she left him to settle in. In her own bedroom, Harper changed into pajamas, checked the Glock on her nightstand twice, and climbed into bed. Through the thin walls, she could hear Silas moving around in the guest room. Making himself at home.
It should have felt intrusive. Should have made her uncomfortable to have someone else in her space, in her sanctuary.
Instead, it felt safe.
Harper closed her eyes and tried to sleep. But every time she drifted off, she saw Nicole Merrin’s face. Saw her own face staring sightlessly at the sky. Heard a voice whispering in the darkness, You’re the masterpiece. I’ll be ready soon.
At some point—three a.m., maybe, or four—Harper heard a sound. A creak, like a floorboard settling. She was instantly awake, hand reaching for the Glock.
Another creak. Closer.
Harper’s finger found the trigger, her breath coming fast. The bedroom door was closed but not locked. Someone could be right outside. Could be—
A soft knock. “Harper? You awake?”
Silas.
Harper exhaled shakily, setting the gun down. “Yeah. Come in.”
The door opened. Silas stood there in sweatpants and a T-shirt, his hair mussed from sleep, his expression concerned. “Heard you moving around. You okay?”
“Oh, uh, yeah.” She sat up, ran her fingers through her hair, avoided his concerned gaze. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither.” He leaned against the doorframe. “Too quiet. I’m used to traffic noise from my apartment.”
It was a lie, Harper knew. He wasn’t awake because of the quiet. He was awake because he was worried. Checking on her.
“You can come in,” Harper offered, feeling awkward. “If you want. We could...I don’t know. Talk. Or sit. Or something.”
Silas hesitated, then crossed to sit in the chair by her window. “Okay.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while, Harper in bed, Silas in the chair. The darkness felt less oppressive with another person there. The fear less consuming.
“Tell me a good memory,” Harper said suddenly. “From before. Before Afghanistan, before everything went wrong. Tell me something good.”
Silas was quiet for a moment. Then, “I had a dog when I was a kid. Rescue mutt named Scout. Dumbest, happiest dog you ever met,” he said with a nostalgic smirk.
“He’d chase anything—squirrels, leaves, his own tail.
My dad used to say Scout had two brain cells and they were always fighting for third place. ”
Harper smiled in the darkness, her fingers picking at a nub on the duvet. “What happened to him?”
“Lived to be fifteen. Died when I was overseas. My mom sent me a letter, told me Scout went peacefully in his sleep.” Silas’s voice was soft.
“I cried for three days. My team thought I was losing it—crying over a dog while we were in a war zone. But Scout was...he was the last innocent thing in my life, you know? The last piece of who I was before I became this.”
“I get that,” Harper said softly, thinking back to a time of her own. “I had a cat in college. Mr. Whiskers—terrible name, but he came with it from the shelter. He died the year before I joined the FBI. Part of me thinks he was the last time I was truly happy.”
“Before the job made us into something else.”
“Yeah. Before that.”
They were quiet again. Outside, Harper could hear the wind picking up, rain starting to patter against the windows. A storm moving in.
“Do you ever wish you could go back?” Harper asked. “Be the person you were before? Before Afghanistan, before the guilt, before all of this?”
He didn’t even take time to think on it. “Every day,” Silas admitted. “But we can’t go back. We can only go forward. Try to be better than we were yesterday.”
“Honor them by being better,” Harper said, remembering his words from earlier.
“Yeah. Exactly that.”
Harper felt her eyes growing heavy. The darkness, the gentle patter of rain outside, Silas’s presence—it all combined to make her feel, for the first time in months, safe enough to sleep.
“You can stay,” she murmured, already drifting off. “If you want. Just...stay.”
“I’ll stay,” Silas said quietly. “I’ll be right here. You’re safe, Harper. I promise.”
And for once, Harper believed it.
She fell asleep to the sound of rain on the sills and Silas’s steady breathing. And when the nightmares came—when she saw Nicole’s face morphing into her own—she heard Silas’s voice cutting through the darkness, calling her name, bringing her back.
She was safe.
For now.
But the killer was still out there. Still planning. Still preparing for his masterpiece.
And time was running out.