We’d won the room. We had Redwood cuffed. The rest—the courts, the testimony, the slow, surgical rebirth of lives—would be a slog. But for tonight, in the sticky dust and broken light, I allowed myself a small mercy: to feel what it was to be whole enough to keep going.
Carter leaned in, voice low for only me. “We bring them home,” he said.
“Yes,” I breathed. “We bring them home.”
And when the medics and the law streamed in, we were ready. We had each other, and we had the evidence, and the first great, brutal truth had been brought into the light.
139
Harper
The building was a hive. Sirens blared outside, their blue-and-red lights flashing against the broken windows, and uniformed officers flooded in like water breaking through a dam. Medics hurried past us with gurneys and supply bags, their voices sharp with triage codes.
I stood rooted for a moment, the rifle still warm in my hands, watching Redwood get handed off to the uniforms. He didn’t resist, didn’t flinch when they shoved him into the back of a van. His smile lingered, and I hated that more than the cuffs around his wrists.
“Harper.” Carter’s voice anchored me again. He tugged the rifle gently from my grip, lowering it until it hung by his side. “You’re done. Let the rest of them handle it now.”
Done. The word felt foreign, almost dangerous. My body was still braced for another attack, another shadow, another ghost in the corner. But the corridor was full of our people now, not Redwood’s.
A medic brushed past and paused, giving me a once-over. “She needs fluids,” he muttered to Carter. “Maybe oxygen.”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically. My throat was raw. “Others need it more.”
Carter just arched a brow at me, the one that meantdon’t push me right now.I didn’t argue, because his hand was still warm against the small of my back, guiding me toward the exit.
Outside, the air hit me like a tidal wave—cool, damp, filled with exhaust and chaos. Reporters had already swarmed the barricades, microphones and cameras shoved forward like weapons of their own.
“Is it true Redwood has been captured?”
“Ms. Vale, were you inside when it happened?”
“Did the Golden Team execute a kill operation or bring him out alive?”
Their voices collided into a storm, and for a split second, it was too much—the cameras, the questions, the flashes of light. They didn’t see the blood under my fingernails or the nightmares still clawing my chest. They just wanted a soundbite.
Carter shifted forward, his body between me and the wall of noise. “Back off,” he growled, and the line of agents behind him reinforced the order, pushing the crowd back.
Gideon limped down the steps beside me, his bandages seeping through but his chin high. “Let them shout,” he muttered. “We’ve got the proof. That’s louder than any headline.”
I looked past the reporters to the waiting vans where boxes of evidence were being loaded: hard drives, files, monitors. Every face I’d seen on those screens would finally be given a chance to be heard.
A shiver ran through me—not fear this time, but release. We’d dragged Redwood into the light. The rest was going to be long, messy, and painful, but it was no longer hidden.
Carter’s hand closed around mine, fingers locking tight. “It’s over,” he said. Not a question. A promise.
And for the first time in months, I let myself believe him.
140
Harper
The safehouse was too quiet after the storm.
I sat on the edge of the cot, boots still on, hands braced against my knees like I couldn’t trust the floor to hold me steady. The silence pressed in, broken only by the distant hum of generators and the soft creak of footsteps in the hall. Every time I blinked, I saw the monitors again—those faces Redwood had catalogued, trapped and unnamed.
Carter crouched in front of me, his forearms resting on his thighs, gaze steady. He hadn’t taken his vest off yet, hadn’t let himself relax, but the tension in his jaw was starting to ease.
“You’re shaking,” he said softly.
