Page 72 of Carter
The morning light slanted across the cabin, catching the hard lines of Carter’s face as he pulled on his vest. Every movement was precise, efficient, practiced—muscle memory from years of battle. But under all that steel, I’d seen the crack. The moment he admitted he couldn’t carry it all alone.
And he’d let me in.
I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders, watching him check the magazine on his rifle before leaning it against the wall again. Every part of me wanted to beg him to sit down, to just rest, but I knew better. He couldn’t—not with Redwood out there. Not while Sable still drew breath.
So I stood, my bare feet silent against the wooden floor, and crossed to him. His eyes flicked up the moment I neared, sharp and alert even in the quiet, but they softened when they found me.
“You don’t have to—” he started.
“Yes,” I interrupted, my voice steadier than I felt. “I do.”
I reached for the vest strap on his shoulder, my fingers brushing over the frayed edge where blood had dried. Hedidn’t move, just stood there watching me, letting me adjust it like it mattered. And maybe it did. Maybe this was how I showed him I wasn’t backing away, not from him, not from the fight.
“I’m not just something to protect, Carter,” I said quietly, meeting his gaze. “I’m with you. In this. All of it.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. His eyes searched mine, fierce and unreadable, until finally he gave a single, slow nod.
And that nod changed everything.
Because it wasn’t him shielding me anymore. It was himtrustingme.
The door banged open then, River’s voice cutting through the air. “We’ve got movement on the east approach.”
Carter’s body tensed, his rifle already in his hand. But before he moved, his fingers brushed mine once, quick but grounding.
Together.
The word wasn’t spoken, but it thundered in my chest as I followed him out the door.
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River’s words snapped through me like a live wire.Movement on the east approach.
In an instant, the fragile quiet of the cabin was gone. My rifle was in my hands, my body moving before my mind caught up. Years of training, instinct. Get eyes on. Secure the perimeter. Neutralize the threat.
But behind me, I heard Harper’s footsteps. Light. Close. Following.
Every nerve in me screamed to turn around, to order her to stay put, to lock the door and keep her safe inside. But the memory of her voice—I’m with you. In this. All of it—stopped me cold.
She wasn’t just following. She was choosing.
I glanced over my shoulder as we stepped into the sharp morning air. Her chin was lifted, eyes steady, blanket tossed aside. She looked scared—I’d have been a fool to think otherwise—but she wasn’t wavering.
The kind of courage it took to stand there, to standwith me,humbled me more than any battlefield ever had.
“Stay close,” I said, low and firm, meeting her gaze. “And if I say down, you hit the ground. No questions.”
Her nod was sharp, quick. Not defiance—trust.
River was already at the treeline, his rifle leveled. Cyclone, bandaged arm and all, flanked left, Gideon covering the right. The team’s formation was tight, controlled, but my focus was split—half on the shadows shifting in the east, half on Harper at my back.
Movement flickered between the trees. Too many shapes to be hikers. Too fast to be anything but trouble.
Redwood.
I drew a steadying breath, my finger tightening on the trigger.
