“I will,” I say. “Thank you for calling.”
“Get some rest, Sloan,” he says quietly. “You’ve earned it.”
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone slowly and turn back to Harper. “They arrested him. Marcus tried to break into the firehouse.”
Her hand flies to her mouth, tears springing instantly to her eyes, this time from sheer, overwhelming relief. “He’s… it’s over?”
Overis a different question. “He’s in custody. Chief says we should get some sleep, and I think he’s right. How about you?”
She exhales a shaky breath and leans into me hard, burying her face against my chest as her body finally lets go of the tension it’s been carrying for days. I wrap my arms around her and hold her there, solid and unyielding, my heart pounding with the aftershock of what almost happened.
We stay like that for a long time, holding on to each other in the dim light, the city still and distant beyond the glass. The danger hasn’t erased what was lost, or the fear that led us here, but it has stopped—contained, controlled, unable to reach us anymore.
Harper tilts her head back to look at me, eyes still wet but steady. “Thank you. For being here for me, even when I tried to run away.”
“Anytime, Sunshine.”
“Sleep…” Her shoulders slump and her body goes loose. “I think I might actually be able to do that.”
“Let’s give it a shot.” I motion for her to cuddle up, and she’s a barnacle, clinging to my side like I’m the thing keeping her together.
For the first time in six years, the night doesn’t feel like something I have to survive.
HARPER
The first time I see Marcus Chen again, he’s being dragged down a fluorescent-lit hallway in handcuffs.
He’s shouting. Not coherent sentences, not anything that resembles reason, a stream of rage and accusation that echoes off the tiled walls. His black hair is greasy and matted, his clothes rumpled like he’s been sleeping in them for days. There’s a wildness in his eyes that makes my stomach turn, a manic intensity that has nothing left to anchor it to reality.
“This is her fault!” he yells, twisting against the grip of the officer holding his arm. “She did this to me. She ruined everything!”
I flinch despite myself.
Aiden’s hand closes around mine instantly, his thumb pressing gently into my palm like a reminder that I’m not alone and I’m not in danger. He doesn’t step in front of me or block my view. He lets me see, lets me process, but he stays close enough that I feel his presence in every breath.
The officers push Marcus through a door at the end of the hall, and the sound of it slamming shut echoes louder than it should. The station feels sterile and over-bright, all white wallsand humming lights. A detective gestures for us to sit, his expression calm but serious.
“He’s agitated but contained. We’re going to need a full statement from you, Ms. Lane.”
I nod, even though my chest feels tight. “That’s why I’m here.” It’s not entirely true. I needed to see him here. Locked up.
Seeing is believing, and last night, even though I slept next to Aiden, I couldn’t calm my brain down. Not after seeing my livelihood go up in smoke.
“There’s also a possibility,” the detective continues carefully, “that you may need to be present while we document his reaction to certain evidence. You won’t be alone. And you don’t have to engage with him directly unless you choose to.”
Aiden’s grip on my hand tightens slightly. “I’m coming with her.”
The detective nods. “Of course.”
We’re led to an observation room, the air cooler here, quieter. Through the one-way glass, I watch as Marcus sit at a metal table in the interrogation room. He’s hunched forward, hands cuffed to a ring bolted into the surface, leg bouncing violently. His mouth is still moving, though I can’t hear what he’s saying now.
He looks smaller like this. I like it.
The detective stands beside me and lowers his voice. “He’d been stalking the bar for weeks. Watching repair crews. Tracking schedules. Planning the arson methodically. We caught him on camera at the bank on the corner of your street, the jewelry store next door, a few others. Plenty of evidence to put him away for a very long time.”
The words sink in slowly, like cold water seeping through fabric. Weeks. All that time, I’d been living my life, believing the danger was past, while he was planning. Studying. Stalking.
