Page 80 of Carter
I followed Carter into the small back room where supplies were stacked—medical kits, spare gear, packs ready to go. My fingers brushed over the edges of bandages and antiseptic bottles, and I began pulling what I could into a small bag. Not much compared to what the men carried, but it was something.
Carter glanced at me over his shoulder, his rifle cradled in his hands. His eyes softened for a heartbeat when he saw what I was doing. “You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” I cut in, my voice quiet but firm.
He studied me a moment longer, then gave the smallestnod before turning back to his weapon. That nod meant more than any words—acceptance, trust.
I tucked the medical bag close, my hands steadier than they’d been all morning. Fear still sat in my chest, sharp and unyielding, but it didn’t control me. Not anymore.
When I stepped back into the main room, River gave me a small, acknowledging glance. Gideon handed me a flashlight without a word, as if he already expected I’d be part of this. Even Cyclone, with his wolfish grin, gave a short nod before snapping another shell into his rifle.
I wasn’t invisible anymore. I wasn’t a liability.
I was one of them.
My gaze found Carter across the room. He slid the strap of his rifle over his shoulder, his body coiled and ready for war. But when his eyes locked on mine, there was something else there—an anchor, a promise, a vow.
Together.
And for the first time, stepping into danger didn’t feel like losing myself.
It felt like finding my place.
128
Harper
Night fell heavy, the kind that swallowed light whole. The forest stretched around us, shadows twisting, every branch creaking like it carried secrets.
I pulled my jacket tighter, the strap of the small medical bag biting into my shoulder. It wasn’t much protection, but it was mine—a purpose, a reason to walk forward instead of hiding.
The men moved like they belonged to the dark. River in the lead, silent and steady. Gideon just behind him, his eyes never leaving the faint glow of the tablet in his hand. Cyclone took the flank, rifle resting easy but ready. And Carter—he stayed close, always close, his presence a steady gravity that kept me anchored.
He didn’t have to say a word. The set of his shoulders, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his eyes swept the trees with every step told me everything. He was ready for war.
And yet, every time his gaze flicked to me, I felt it—he wasn’t just fighting for the mission. He was fighting for me.
My legs ached as the trail narrowed, the climb steep, but I didn’t complain. I matched their pace, breath steady, heartwild but determined. For once, I wasn’t just waiting for the storm to reach me. I was walking into it with my head high.
Carter’s hand brushed mine briefly when the path grew uneven. Just a touch, quick and sure, but enough to send warmth through the cold night. A reminder: I wasn’t alone in this.
The forest opened then, revealing a ridge that overlooked a valley below. And there—half-hidden in shadow and steel—was Redwood’s hub. Buildings squatted against the earth, floodlights sweeping wide arcs, armed men pacing the perimeter.
A knot twisted in my stomach, fear pressing sharp and insistent. But as Carter crouched beside me, his breath warm against my ear, that fear didn’t own me.
“This is it,” he murmured. “One way or another, we end it tonight.”
I nodded, my pulse hammering. My fingers curled tight around the strap of the bag.
Because this wasn’t just Carter’s fight anymore.
It was ours.
129
Harper
The sight of Redwood’s hub stole my breath.
