Page 32 of Carter
“Pack only essentials,” he told me without looking up, already strapping gear across his chest. “We’re moving now.”
I froze. “Where—?”
“Doesn’t matter. Safer than here.” His tone was steel, final.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. The blanket slipped to the floor as I pushed myself upright, forcing my shaking hands to work. Phone. Jeans. A sweater. My mind cataloged what I reached for, but none of it mattered. None of it would keep me safe. Only Carter’s presence felt solid.
Gideon swept past me, checking the windows, muttering into a comms device. River stood near the door, his weapon ready, eyes scanning every shadow as though expecting it to move.
I shoved a few things into a bag, my heart hammering against my ribs. My entire body wanted to curl up and hide,but I wouldn’t give in to that. Not now. Not when Carter was right there, moving like the whole weight of the fight rested on his shoulders.
“Harper.”
I looked up. Carter was beside me, his eyes blazing, his hand sliding the strap of the bag from my fingers. “I’ll carry it. Stay close.”
The words should’ve sounded like a command. Instead, they felt like a vow.
“I can do this,” I whispered, needing him to know.
For a fraction of a second, his expression softened, something fierce and tender breaking through. His hand brushed my cheek, brief and grounding, before the soldier slid back into place.
“Stay behind me,” he said again.
The hallway outside was darker than it should’ve been, every corner a threat. River led, Carter at my side, Gideon covering the rear. My pulse thundered with every step, but I kept moving, one foot in front of the other.
I wasn’t naive. I knew I was still the weakest link here. But as Carter’s hand brushed mine, steady and sure, I also knew something else.
I wasn’t going to crumble. Not this time. Not with him.
43
Carter
The hallway smelled like dust and stale paint, but beneath it was something sharper—adrenaline, danger pressing in from every angle. My hand hovered near Harper’s back, not touching, but close enough to catch her if she stumbled.
River moved like a shadow at point, checking corners, his rifle steady. Gideon brought up the rear, eyes flicking to every door, every sound. The silence in the building was wrong. Too still.
We hit the stairwell. River signaled two fingers—down, fast. My pulse hammered, but my grip on the weapon stayed steady. Harper was breathing hard behind me, but she kept pace, her eyes wide, sharp.
Good girl.
We descended, boots whisper-quiet against concrete. On the second landing, a noise cut through the stillness—boots on tile, faint but unmistakable. My fist shot up, stopping the team in an instant.
“Contact,” River mouthed.
My jaw clenched. They’d gotten inside already.
I turned, meeting Harper’s eyes. She was pale, but she didn’t flinch. My hand closed over hers for a heartbeat—enough to anchor us both—before I pressed a finger to my lips and shifted her behind me.
The first figure appeared at the bottom of the stairwell, masked, weapon drawn. Too slow. I fired once, the round dropping him before he cleared his aim. His body hit the ground with a thud that echoed through the stairwell.
More footsteps thundered from below.
“Move!” I barked, shoving Harper into River’s path. “Get her out!”
“I’ve got rear,” Gideon snapped, pivoting to cover the top.
River grabbed Harper’s arm, pulling her down the next flight, his body shielding hers. My chest burned as I followed, firing at shadows, at the shapes emerging from the dark.
