Page 4 of Forged in Fire
“What?” He frowns, genuinely confused. “She knows the stakes.”
I blink hard, willing away the tears that are threatening to spill over. “Sure,” I say, managing a shrug like it’s no big deal that my twin brother might be strapped to a torture rack as we speak. “He’s probably fine.”
But he’s not. I feel it in my bones, in the hollow space where our twin bond used to live. Something’s wrong. Something’s been wrong for a long time, and now it’s getting worse.
“We’ll do this right,” Viktor decides, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “There’s too much at stake to screw it up.”
I nod like I agree, like I’m on board with the careful planning and measured approach. Because they’re right. Tactically, strategically, logically—they’re absolutely right.
But every instinct I’ve honed during my years of searching is screaming that we don’t have time. That whatever the Syndicate is planning, whatever they need Kieran for, it’s happening soon.
Maybe it’s already happening.
I touch the pendant again, and for just a moment, I swear I can feel him. Kieran. Somewhere in the dark, waiting for someone to remember he exists. Waiting for his sister to finally be brave enough to come find him.
The metal grows warmer under my fingers, and suddenly I’m watching Syndicate operatives drag my brother away while I hide like a coward. Watching him mouth “run” as they shove him toward a transport vehicle that would take him away.
I should have fought. Should have stayed. Should have been stronger, braver, better.
But I was afraid, and by the time I’d gathered enough courage to try to reach him, the trail had gone cold.
Now here we are, with a real lead for the first time, and they want me to wait.
“Fine,” I say, standing up from the table. “Plan away. But make it fast. Whatever window we have, it won’t stay open forever.”
I head for the door, needing air and space and time to think without everyone watching me like I’m some kind of loose cannon.
Although maybe I am.
“Where are you going?” Elena calls after me.
“To get some air,” I say without turning around. I leave them to their planning and step into the corridor. I look back toward Viktor’s office, where they’ll probably keep arguing about contingency plans and logistical advantages. Good people. Smart people. People I should probably be listening to because they’re right; we don’t even know exactly where he is right now.
But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to do something immediately.
Because Kieran is my brother. My twin. The other half of a whole that’s been broken.
I touch the pendant one more time, feeling that strange warmth pulse against my fingertips.
Hold on,I think desperately.Just hold on a little longer.
Chapter 2
Riven
My pulse thunders in my ears, ragged and raw, as I circle the sparring pit. The floor is slick with sweat and old blood, worn smooth by decades of violence. Across from me, Garrus grins, his scarred knuckles cracking as he flexes his massive hands.
The man’s built like a goddamned fortress—shoulders like boulders, veins mapping his arms like rivers, scars crisscrossing his dark skin in pale ridges that tell stories I probably don’t want to know. My blade feels too light in my grip, the familiar weight suddenly inadequate. Too small.
Good.
I need to learn to outwit a bigger opponent.
“Coming at me, runt?” Garrus goads, rolling his neck with a sound like grinding stone. The bright lights overhead cast harsh shadows across his face, turning his grin into something bestial.
Fuck, he’s big.
“Come on, Barlowe! I’ve got money on you!” Luther calls from the sidelines, where he’s leaning against a pillar. Allard is beside him, smirking. The fucker is probably itching to watch me take a fall.
