Page 66 of Forged in Fire
Iris is looking at me like I’ve just done something she didn’t expect. Something that changes the equation between us.
She’s really not used to having someone on her side.
“You’re not taking her against her will,” I continue, voice carrying the calm that usually precedes violence. “Find another solution.”
“There is no other solution,” Luke replies. There’s a slight hesitation in his voice. He doesn’t like this any more than Elena does.
“Then we have a problem.”
The standoff stretches taut. Four people with conflicting loyalties. Nobody willing to back down. Helicopter engines tick as they cool.
That’s when I hear it.
Fabric against stone. Boot leather finding purchase. A subtle shift in air pressure. Bodies moving with quiet intent.
My thermal perception screams warnings. Multiple threats. Professional approach patterns. Coordinated assault formation.
Guild.
“Down!” I bark, already moving for Iris as the first rifle crack splits the morning air.
All hell breaks loose.
Muzzle flashes bloom from the tree line. Bullets whine off stone and spark against helicopter armor. Elena drops into a combat crouch, sidearm appearing. Luke spins toward the threat, an assault rifle materializing from nowhere.
But all of that is background noise. My entire focus narrows to Iris. Getting her behind cover before the snipers adjust their aim.
I tackle her low and hard. Drive us both behind the helicopter’s bulk as high-velocity rounds tear through the space where we’d been standing. She hits the ground beneath me, breath forced out in a surprised gasp.
“Stay down,” I growl against her ear, then roll away to assess the situation.
This is professional. Coordinated. Exactly what I’d expect from Guild operatives. Because I have no doubt it’s them. Multiple firing positions in the tree line. Overlapping fields of fire. Systematic approach vectors designed to cut off escape routes.
They’re not here to negotiate.
Fuck. Why didn’t I pay attention when I heard them earlier?
Too busy worrying about Iris being upset by Elena’s plans.
Elena and Luke have taken cover behind some stone pillars, Luke returning fire. The helicopter pilot is already spinning up rotors, preparing for emergency takeoff.
“How many?” Elena shouts over the growing whine of turbine engines.
I chance a look around the tail boom, count muzzle flashes, estimate positions.
“Six in the trees. At least four more flanking through the ruins.”
“Extraction window is closing,” Luke reports. “We need to move now.”
The helicopter lurches as the pilot brings it to full power. Rotor wash begins stirring dust and debris, a localized storm providing concealment but making accurate shooting nearly impossible.
Elena’s eyes flash silver for a split second. Her fingers trace quick symbols in the air, and I catch the scent of magic, like the aftermath of lightning—old power, earth, and blood combined. A protective ward shimmers into existence around our position.
“That’ll buy us thirty seconds,” she says, already moving. “Maybe less.”
Luke’s form begins to shift slightly—not full transformation, but enhanced strength and speed. Dragon aspects bleed through his human facade. His return fire becomes more accurate, more devastating.
I look back at Iris, pressed against the landing gear. Scared but focused as her shadows weave about her.
