Page 93 of Forged in Fire
What’s wrong?
Everything, dammit.
She’s not a liability—I am. This attachment is making me sloppy, second-guessing decisions based on emotions instead of logic. Getting us both killed because I can’t separate professional judgment from whatever this thing is between us.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I lie.
Her eyes narrow, seeing right through me. “Try again.”
The distant sound of boots on stone echoes through the passage. Our five minutes are up.
“Move,” I say instead of answering.
We flow deeper into the mountain, but the dynamic between us has shifted. I can feel her watching me the way I’ve been watching her—assessing, worried, distracted by concern instead of focused on survival.
The next security checkpoint proves it.
Four guards this time, positioned at the junction where our passage meets the main approach to the chamber complex. I signal the plan with quick hand gestures—she takes the two on the left, I handle the right side; a synchronized strike to minimize noise.
Simple. Clean. Except when she moves to engage, I step sideways to cover her approach instead of moving to my assigned position.
The guard I should have been handling spots the movement.
“Contact!” he shouts before my blade finds his throat.
Alarms start blaring. Emergency lighting floods the passages with harsh white glare that murders our concealment advantage. In seconds, this place will be crawling with Syndicate operatives who know exactly where we are.
“What the hell was that?” Iris demands.
“I—” The explanation dies in my throat. How do I tell her I couldn’t stand to watch her take risks?
And now, I’ve practically thrown her in danger.
“You moved out of position,” she continues, anger heating her voice. “You were supposed to handle the right flank.”
“I saw an opening—”
“Bullshit.” She steps closer, and I can see fire beginning to dance in her eyes. Literally. Dragon heritage responding to emotion. “You were trying to protect me instead of trusting the plan.”
More voices echo from the passage behind us. Multiple teams converging on our position.
My earpiece crackles: “Riven, we’re seeing movement shifting back toward the interior,” Luke’s voice, tight with concern. “Looks like some of their forces are disengaging from us. I’m going to try something else.”
Shit. The diversion drew them away initially, but now they’re realizing the real threat isn’t coming from above.
“We don’t have time for this,” I say.
“No, we don’t. But we’re going to have time to be dead if you keep trying to fight my battles for me.” Her voice drops to something deadly. “We’re supposed to be partners, Riven.”
Partners. Right. I’ve never had to worry about anyone else surviving the mission before.
“We are,” I say feebly, because I haven’t done much to prove it.
“Then don’t worry about me,” she says, reading my expression. “Trust me.”
Trust her. Let her take the risks that come with the job, the same risks I’ve been taking my entire adult life. Easy concept. Impossible execution when the thought of her getting hurt makes something raw and protective roar to life in my chest.
But we’re out of time and options. The sound of approaching footsteps grows louder.
