Page 80 of Whispers in the Night

“Yeah.” Silas pressed a kiss to her temple. “Yeah.”

They lay in comfortable silence for a while, just existing together. Harper listened to Silas’s heartbeat gradually slow, felt the warmth of his skin against hers. For the first time in weeks, her mind was quiet. No spinning thoughts about evidence or victims or killers. Just peace.

“I meant what I said before,” Silas said quietly. “About this being real. About wanting to see where it goes after the case is over.”

Harper propped herself up on one elbow to look at him. “So did I.”

“Good.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture tender. “Because I’m in this. Whatever happens, wherever we end up, I want you in my life.”

“Even when I’m a mess? When I have nightmares and guilt spirals and work twenty-hour days?”

“Especially then. Because I get it. I’ve been there. We can be a mess together.” Silas pulled her back down against his chest. “Plus, someone needs to make sure you actually eat and sleep occasionally.”

Harper laughed against his chest. “Is that your primary qualification? Feeding me?”

“Among other things.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ve also been told I give excellent back rubs and make a mean lasagna.”

Her fingers played in the fine hairs dusting his chest. “I’ll have to test both of those claims.”

“Anytime.”

They dozed for a while, wrapped in each other and the afternoon sunlight filtering through the curtains. When Harper woke, Silas was already awake, watching her with an expression that made her chest tight.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing. Just...” He traced her jawline with his finger. “Just thinking about how different everything is now compared to when we first met.”

“When you thought I was an arrogant FBI agent invading your territory?”

“I never thought you were arrogant. Stubborn, yes. Determined, definitely. But not arrogant.” Silas smiled. “I knew from that first crime scene that you were going to be trouble.”

“Trouble?” she said incredulously.

“The best kind of trouble. The kind that changes everything.”

Harper leaned in, kissed him, slow and sweet this time. No urgency, no desperation. Just connection.

When they finally got up, it was late afternoon. Silas insisted on making the lunch he’d abandoned earlier, and Harper sat at the kitchen table in one of his T-shirts, watching him cook and feeling something she hadn’t felt in years.

Happy. Despite everything—the case, the victims, the guilt—she felt happy.

“What are you smiling about?” Silas asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Nothing. Everything.” Harper shook her head. “I’m just...content. Which feels wrong given what we’re dealing with, but I can’t help it.”

“Don’t feel guilty about being happy. We’re allowed moments of joy even in the middle of darkness. Maybe especially then.” Silas plated the food—sandwiches and fruit, simple but satisfying. “We can’t pour from an empty cup. Taking care of ourselves, finding moments of connection and peace—that’s what keeps us able to do the work.”

They ate on the porch, watching the sun sink lower through the trees. The forest was quiet, except for bird calls and the rustle of wind through pine needles.

“When this is over,” Harper said, “when we catch him and the case closes, I want to come back here. To this cabin. Just for a weekend. No case, no pressure. Just us.”

“I’d like that.” Silas reached over, laced his fingers through hers. “We could hike that trail again. Maybe go farther, see what’s beyond the ridge.”

“Cook actual meals instead of living on takeout,” she said with a lift of her brows.

“Sleep past six a.m,” he added.

“Revolutionary concept.”