Page 68 of Whispers in the Night

“What about you?” Harper asked. “Why’d you become a detective?”

Silas was quiet for a long moment. “After I lost my team, I was in a dark place. PTSD, survivor’s guilt, the whole package. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t function. The Army gave me an honorable discharge and sent me home to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.”

He picked up a small stone, turned it over in his hands. “I was working as a bartender in Portland, trying to pay rent and not think too much. One night, a woman came in, terrified. Said her ex was stalking her, threatening her, and the police couldn’t do anything because he hadn’t technically broken the law yet. She just wanted a safe place to wait until her friend could pick her up.”

“What happened?”

“The ex showed up. Started making a scene, getting violent. I called 911, but I knew they wouldn’t get there in time. So I...handled it.” Silas set down the stone. “Turns out the detective who responded to the call was impressed. Said I had good instincts, asked if I’d ever considered police work. I said no. He gave me his card anyway.”

“And you called him.”

“Six months later, when I realized bartending wasn’t going to give my life meaning. He helped me get into the academy, mentored me through my first few years on the force.” Silas looked at her. “Detective work gives me purpose. Solving puzzles, finding patterns, catching people who hurt others.It’s...it’s how I balance the scales for the team I lost. Every case I solve, every person I help, it’s like paying back a debt.”

“To your team?”

“To the universe, I guess?” he said on a sigh. “I survived when they didn’t. I have to make that mean something.”

Harper understood that bone-deep. The need to make tragedy meaningful, to transform guilt into purpose. They were more alike than she’d realized.

“I’m glad you survived,” she said quietly.

Silas turned to look at her, his pale-blue eyes intense. “So am I. Especially right now.”

The moment stretched between them, heavy with things unsaid. Harper was acutely aware of how close they were sitting, of the warmth of his body next to hers, of the way her heart was beating faster than the climb up the trail warranted.

“We should head back,” she said, even though she didn’t want to move. “It’ll be getting dark soon.”

He nodded once, and the moment was broken.

The walk down was quieter, both of them lost in their own thoughts. By the time they reached the cabin, the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.

Inside, Silas headed for the kitchen. “I’m making dinner. Real dinner, not takeout or protein bars.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to. Sit. Relax. Let someone take care of you for once.”

Harper settled on the couch, watching as Silas moved around the kitchen with easy confidence. He pulled out chicken breast, vegetables, rice. Started cooking with the focus he brought to everything.

“Where’d you learn to cook?” she asked.

“My grandfather. He raised me after my parents divorced when I was ten. Said a man who couldn’t feed himself was half useless.” Silas smiled at the memory. “Every Sunday, we’d cooktogether. He taught me everything—how to season properly, how to tell when meat was done, how to make a good pan sauce.”

“Sounds like he was a good man.”

“The best. He died a few years ago, right before I moved to Blackridge.” Silas stirred the vegetables. “I think he’d like you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He always said the best people were the ones who stood up even when it was hard. Who fought for what was right even when they were scared.” Silas glanced at her. “That’s you.”

Harper felt warmth spread through her chest. “I’m scared a lot more than you think.”

“Being scared and doing it anyway? That’s the definition of brave.”

They ate at the small kitchen table, talking about everything except the case. Silas told her about restoring his motorcycle, about the camping trips he took in the summers, about his grandfather’s terrible jokes. Harper told him about her college years, about her best friend from the academy, about the time she accidentally insulted a senator during a briefing.

It was easy, this talking. Natural. As if they’d known each other for years instead of just over a week.