Page 111 of Whispers in the Night

“He wanted me to see him as special,” Harper said. “As an artist or a genius. To validate what he’d done.”

“And you didn’t. You called him broken and tragic. That’s what made him angry enough to make a mistake.” Silas pulled her closer. “You did exactly what needed to be done. You kept him talking, gave the teams time to position, and when he made his move, you survived. That’s what matters.”

Harper rested her head against Silas’s shoulder. “Nineteen women are still dead.”

“Yes. And their families will finally have answers. Justice. Closure. Because of you.”

“Justice doesn’t bring them back.”

“No. But it means they weren’t forgotten. That their deaths had meaning, even if not the meaning Sutton wanted them to have.”

They sat in silence for a while, holding each other in the growing darkness. Outside, the forest was quiet. The nightmare was over. Dale Sutton was dead, his reign of terror had ended.

But Harper knew it would be a long time before she stopped hearing his voice. Before she stopped questioning the line between understanding darkness and embracing it.

“Thank you,” she finally whispered. “For being here. For not letting me face this alone.”

“Always,” Silas said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And in the darkness of the cabin, wrapped in Silas’s arms, Harper let herself believe it.

Tomorrow there would be reports to write, families to notify, evidence to process. Tomorrow they’d dive for trophies under the dock and close nineteen cases that had haunted multiple jurisdictions for years.

But tonight, Harper let herself rest.

The monster was dead. And she had survived.

Chapter 22

Harper woke to sunlight streaming through the cabin windows and the warmth of Silas’s body pressed against hers. For a moment, she just lay there, listening to his steady breathing, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against her back where his arm was wrapped around her waist.

They’d barely slept. Every time Harper closed her eyes, she saw Sutton’s face, heard his voice telling her they were the same. So they’d stayed awake, talking in the darkness, then not talking at all—just holding each other, seeking comfort and connection in the aftermath of trauma.

And eventually, around three a.m., that comfort had turned into something more urgent. A need to feel alive, to reaffirm their connection, to prove that they’d both survived. The memory of it made heat bloom in Harper’s chest—Silas’s hands on her skin, the desperate intensity, the way he’d whispered her name like a prayer.

Silas stirred behind her, his arm tightening. “You’re thinking too loud again,” he murmured against her hair.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t really sleeping. Just enjoying the view.” His hand traced lazy patterns on her hip. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. Exhausted. Alive.” Harper turned in his arms to face him. In the morning light, she could see the shadows under his eyes, the tension still present in his jaw. “You?”

“Same. Plus terrified that I almost lost you yesterday.”

She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. “But you didn’t.”

“But I could have. When I heard those gunshots over the radio—” His voice caught. “I’ve never been that scared in my life.”

Harper cupped his face, feeling the rough stubble under her palm. “I’m here. We’re both here.”

Silas pulled her closer, kissed her—soft and lingering. When they broke apart, his pale-blue eyes were intense. “I don’t want to waste any more time pretending this isn’t serious. That what we have is just...convenient or temporary.”

“It’s not temporary.”

“Good. Because I’m in love with you, Harper Sinclair.” He said it simply, directly, like a fact he’d been holding back too long. “And I needed to say that before we go back to the station and have to act professional again.”

Harper felt her breath catch. They’d danced around it, implied it, but neither had said the actual words before. “I love you too,” she whispered. “Even though it terrifies me.”