He noticed her belongings first. 

Harper’s phone was abandoned on the desk chair, the laptop left open, the screen locked. A coat draped over the chair’s back, as if she’d stepped out for coffee. 

“Did she leave everything on purpose?”

He hadn't planned to return to the headquarters tonight. He spent the day in a haze while trying to outrun the memory of Harper's expression when they’d clashed. 

The sun had been setting as he admitted to himself that he needed to fix the situation, so he could stop thinking about her voice cracking.

The office building had been nearly empty, security nodding him through with barely a glance. 

He'd told himself he was only checking on project details. But his feet had carried him straight to the co-leads' office, drawn by an invisible thread.

Now he stood in the doorway, studying the scene with eyes sharpened by years of reading people.

There was a half-empty coffee cup next to her laptop, and it was ice-cold when he touched it. A phone charger was plugged into the wall, waiting for a device that would never return. A pen rolled to the floor, and some papers skewed like fallen leaves. 

Harper Owen wouldn’t leave her things like this. She was meticulous, almost obsessive about organization. But her absence screamed louder than any argument they’d had.

It was like a picture of abandonment, twisting something cold in his chest. 

He'd dismissed his growing fixation on Harper as a distraction, a fleeting weakness that would pass once the job was done. But now, standing in the empty office, he wasn't so sure.

“She is too controlled for such carelessness. Is she?”

The question came out as a whisper.

He’d always seen her as sharp. Chaos didn’t suit the Harper he knew, the woman he'd been studying, preparing to use her when the moment was right.

But this? 

This confusion undermined his certainty. It annoyed him. 

Henry Owen’s daughter was supposed to be explosive but loyal to her father. She’d sparred with him, challenged every demand he'd made, yet her devotion to her family name had seemed unwavering.

That loyalty was meant to be her weakness, and he'd planned to use it.

Harper’s absence didn’t seem strategic. And he wasn’t ready for that, nor for the pull he felt toward her.  

The memories flickered unbidden. The way she played with her hair when concentrating, moving to the rhythm of music in her earbuds when she thought no one was watching. While she was reading, her soft humming was barely audible and intimate. Her punishing herself for the pleasure of the caffeine was delightful.

For the enemy he’d built in his mind, it was too human. And it bothered him more than he could admit. 

He moved through the empty building, checking anywhere she might have been. Meeting rooms were dark, and hallways remained silent, except for the echo of his footsteps.

He checked the break room, the stairwell, and the rooftop idling under a grayish sky. Nothing.

“Where are you, Harper?”

She was nowhere to be found, and her absence felt personal. As she'd vanished specifically to escape the web he'd been weaving around her.

The plan had been so simple. Get close to Harper Owen. Learn her patterns, her fears, her soft spots. Use that.

It had to be cold, methodical. Satisfying.

“But Harper…”

His pulse quickened with a crack in his self-control.

He checked the parking lot to see if her car was still in its space. It was. So its owner left on foot, which meant she couldn't have gone far.

But far enough to vanish.

The city was full of places for a broken woman to disappear, and he felt the weight of that pressing on him physically.

He tried to think like her, to unravel her mind. She didn’t seem like the type to run to family. 

“Friends? Unlikely. Harper keeps people at arm’s length. Which left her with nowhere to go except…”

The thought hit him hard with a terror he'd never experienced before.

He was heading for the exit when he spotted Clara Reed in the hallway. Her usual bright demeanor was replaced by worry lines around her eyes. His steps quickened.

“Have you seen Ms. Owen?”

“No.” Her voice was clipped. “She rushed out earlier. She acted… strange.”

“Strange how?”

“Not herself. Pale, muttering, like she was running from something.” Clara hesitated, lowering her voice. “Saying something about needing the air…”

“Air?” He stepped closer, his tone urgent. “Where’d she go?”

Clara’s eyes swayed away, then back. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her after.”

“Any suggestions where she might go?”

“Maybe, the river? She loved it there as a teenager.”

The river. Clara's voice echoed with whispered stories about people seeking permanent silence on its bridge.

“Thanks, Clara,” he said, already turning away. “Keep this quiet.”

She nodded, but her worried frown said enough. Harper's erratic behavior was probably already spreading through office gossip chats, adding fuel to rumors circulating about their strange partnership.

“What are you running from, Harper?”

Was she running from Henry? From him? Has she sensed him playing?

The idea of Harper realizing his original intentions made him uneasy. Could that break her?

He recalled recent headlines with bridge offerings of distorted salvation. 

Would Harper appreciate the efficiency of it? No mess for others to clean up, no lengthy explanations required.

The premise sent him running for his car. His fingers were fumbling with keys as he tried not to picture Harper alone in the darkness.

“Let her be okay,” he thought, though he wasn't sure who he was praying to. 

The desperate urgency of finding the woman he'd been planning to use earlier seemed like an irony. But Harper Owen had felt different from a tool. When had she stopped being just collateral? 

“She'd become... what, exactly?” 

He couldn't name it, the tight feeling in his chest or the way his pulse rose when he reckoned her laugh and quick comebacks. 

Was this genuine concern for a valuable asset? The question eroded him as he finally broke free of traffic and sped toward the river. Did it matter what his motives were if the result was the same?

The bridge appeared before him in its grandeur, and lights were cutting through the gathering dusk.

He scanned the pedestrian walkway, searching for a familiar silhouette among the evening joggers and tourists. Most people hurried across quickly, eager to reach their destinations. He abandoned his car behind a black sedan with a tinted windshield in a loading zone. 

As he ran forward, the wind whipped off the river, carrying the scent of urban decay.

In the distance, he’d spotted a lone figure, silhouetted against the darkening sky.

Harper.

She was shivering, clinging desperately to the railing. Her posture spoke of exhaustion and surrender. She gripped the metal barrier like it was the only thing keeping her in this world.

His approach slowed instinctively. The heart hammered as he looked at Harper fighting something that had called to her.

"Harper," he called softly, but the wind swallowed his voice.

She didn't turn, didn't acknowledge his presence. She seemed lost in some internal dialogue, some conversation with ghosts he couldn't see. 

The city noise faded into background static as he focused entirely on the woman who had filled his mind without his permission or conscious consent.

He moved closer, making each step deliberately careful, trying not to scare her with any sudden movement.

The lights reflected off the water below with their colors and shadows. He couldn't bring himself to look down for long. The water was darker and more turbulent than he expected. If Harper fell, there would be no dramatic rescue scenes. 

Only the river and its coolness.

Her whole body shook as hyperventilation took hold, each breath more ragged than the last.

"Harper!" He lunged forward, abandoning all caution. Her shoulders tensed slightly as she'd heard him.

She turned then, slowly, as if this movement required tremendous effort. The look in her eyes struck him like a physical blow. 

Instead of the devastation he expected, her eyes were wild, unfocused. Tears flowed down her face. 

At the moment, this doesn’t feel like business or family obligations anymore. His carefully laid plans seemed suddenly small and distant, like echoes from another life. 

As he had a choice at this point?

Without overthinking it, he found himself reaching toward her, palms open, offering what felt like the first honest gesture he'd made in years.

His arms encircled her just as she began to sway.

She fought him at first, trapped in the grip of terror.

"Let me go, let me go… I can't…"

"Look at me." His voice was fierce, desperate. "Harper, look at me. You're safe."

"I… I know…" 

Her confession died as another wave of panic crashed over her. She collapsed against him, her full weight suddenly in his arms as consciousness flickered.

He held her firmly, one arm supporting her, the other cradling her head against his chest. For the first time in his life, pure terror consumed him. The terror of losing her.

Behind the tinted windshield, a pair of cold eyes watched them patiently.

For the first time since he could remember, Ivan Vernon didn't need to know what came next.