Chapter 8 - The Ghost Returns
Silas froze. He turned his head slowly.
Stepping out from the shadows of the tree line, holding a hunting rifle with trembling hands, was Clara.
She looked thinner, exhausted, her clothes soaked and covered in mud. A makeshift bandage was wrapped tightly around her left arm, stained crimson.
"Clara," Silas whispered, his voice cracking.
"Mommy!" The twins broke away from Silas and bolted toward her.
Clara dropped the rifle and fell to her knees, catching her boys. She buried her face in their curls, sobbing uncontrollably. "My babies. Oh, my brave boys."
Silas stood up slowly. He walked toward her, the years of anger, confusion, and grief washing away in the torrential rain, leaving only an overwhelming sense of completion.
Clara looked up at him, her tears mixing with the rain. "You came."
"You told them I was the scariest man you knew," Silas said, extending a hand to help her up. "I had a reputation to uphold."
She took his hand. Her grip was weak, her skin freezing. As soon as she was on her feet, her knees buckled.
Silas caught her, sweeping her effortlessly into his arms.
"Mercer," Silas called out to his bruised but conscious security chief. "Call the chopper. We're going home."
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Clara rested her head against his chest, her eyes fluttering shut. "The ledger... Sterling..."
"Handled," Silas said softly, pressing a kiss to her damp hair. "I burned his world to the ground. Nobody will ever hunt you again."
