Page 45 of Carter
Cyclone’s eyes flicked to the mirror. “That’s not just a mission, Carter. That’s a war.”
“Then it’s one I’ll fight,” I snapped. “Because Harper doesn’t spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder.”
The words came out harsher than I intended, raw and sharp in the confined space. River’s eyes slid to mine, calm but knowing.
“You’re not thinking like a soldier anymore,” he said quietly.
“No,” I admitted, my voice low. “I’m thinking like a man who refuses to lose her.”
The SUV fell silent again, but the truth of it settled heavy in the air. I wasn’t just carrying out an op. I wasn’t just chasing payback.
This was personal now.
And God help whoever thought they could touch Harper again—because I wasn’t coming back from this fight without her safe in my arms.
64
Harper
The cabin was too quiet.
I sat curled on the bed, Carter’s flannel wrapped tight around me, listening to the groan of the wind through the trees. Every creak, every snap of a branch outside made my pulse race. I told myself it was just the forest, just the night—but the silence between those sounds was worse.
Because silence meant I didn’t know if Carter was still breathing.
I paced the length of the small room, then back again, wearing a path in the wooden floor. River had left one of their radios behind, silent and cold on the dresser. I wanted to pick it up, demand an update, scream into it until someone answered—but I knew better. I’d only get static.
So I did the only thing left to me. I prayed. Not with words I’d memorized as a child, but with the rawest pieces of myself. Please let him come back. Please don’t let this be the night I lose him.
When headlights finally cut across the shutters, I froze. My heart leapt so fast it hurt. The crunch of tires over gravel,the slam of doors, boots pounding against the porch—each sound crashed into me like thunder.
I ran to the hall, flannel wrapped tightly around me, breath lodged tight in my chest.
The door burst open.
Carter filled the frame, broad shoulders, rifle slung, eyes blazing even in exhaustion. His chest heaved, his jaw was set hard—but the moment his gaze found mine, the storm broke.
“Harper.”
My name on his lips. Rough. Shaken. Alive.
I didn’t think. I didn’t breathe. I just launched myself at him. His arms caught me instantly, lifting me clean off the floor, his body solid and shaking under mine. His face pressed to my hair, his breath ragged like he couldn’t believe I was real.
The tears came hot and fast, soaking into his shirt. “You came back.”
His arms tightened, crushing me to him. “Always,” he rasped. “You hear me? Always.”
And in that moment, I didn’t care about the war outside these walls. Didn’t care about contracts or networks or shadows in the night.
Because Carter was here. And for one heartbeat, that was enough.
65
Harper
Icouldn’t stop shaking. My fingers curled into Carter’s shirt like they were welded there, my face pressed to the sweat-damp fabric as though I could breathe him back into me. Every beat of his heart thundered against my cheek, proof he was alive, proof I hadn’t lost him to the dark.
He set me down gently, but his arms didn’t loosen. His hands framed my face, thumbs brushing away tears I hadn’t realized were still falling. His eyes searched mine, wild and soft at once, like he was afraid I’d vanish if he blinked.
