Page 22 of Forged in Fire
We stare at each other across a chasm that feels impossible to bridge. The brother I loved, the brother I’ve been searching for, is standing right in front of me. But he’s also gone. Replaced by someone who speaks in talking points and looks at me like I’m a strategic tool to add to his arsenal.
“I won’t do it,” I say finally. “Whatever you want from me, whatever grand plan you’ve cooked up with your new friends, I won’t be part of it.”
The disappointment on his face deepens, but there’s no surprise. Like he really did expect this response.
“I know,” he says. “You always were stubborn. But time has a way of changing perspectives. And evidence has a way of changing minds.”
“And if I still refuse? If your evidence doesn’t convince me to abandon everything I believe in?”
Kieran’s expression goes blank. “Then we’ll revisit our options when that time comes.”
Our options. Not my options. Like my choices belong to him now.
“I don’t know what they did to you,” I say. “What they promised you or threatened you with or convinced you to believe. But this isn’t you, Kieran. The brother I know would never look at me the way you’re looking at me right now.”
“The brother you knew was living in a fantasy,” he replies. “The brother I am now understands reality.”
Reality. According to the Syndicate’s definition of truth.
“Fair enough.” I straighten my shoulders, calling my shadows back to me. The scales along my arms gleam dully in the dim light as I meet his intense gaze with my own. “But that brother you’re trying so hard to forget? The one who believed in family loyalty and honor and protecting the people he loved? He taught me a few things, too.”
“Such as?”
“Such as how to recognize when someone’s trying to manipulate me.” I let him see the steel underneath the heartbreak, the fire that’s been building to dangerous levels. “And how to fight back when they do.”
The armed figures shift slightly, responding to some signal I can’t detect. Kieran raises one hand—a subtle gesture that freezes them in place.
“This isn’t over,” he says quietly. “You’ll have time to think. Time to see the evidence for yourself. Time to understand why this is the only path forward.”
“And if I choose a different path?”
“Then you’ll have chosen poorly.” The finality in his voice wraps around my throat like a noose. “But you’ll have chosen, Iris. That’s more than most of our people will get if we don’t act.”
“I’ve already chosen,” I tell him. “I choose to remember who my brother used to be, even if you’ve forgotten. I choose to believe in the things he taught me, even if you’ve abandoned them. And I choose to fight for the people I love, even if that list doesn’t include you anymore.”
“You’ll change your mind,” he says, and there’s something almost sad in his voice. “When you see what’s coming, when you understand the stakes, you’ll realize that sentiment is a luxury we can’t afford.”
Sentiment. Like loving your family is some kind of weakness.
“Maybe,” I concede. “Or maybe you’ll remember what it felt like to have honor instead of being a tool.”
Kieran’s face hardens. “Take her to the holding area,” he says to the armed figures, his voice carefully neutral.
“Why?” I say brokenly, knowing exactly why. I’m so screwed.
He doesn’t acknowledge me. “Make sure she’s comfortable. She’ll need time to process everything we’ve discussed. I’m sorry, Iris.”
Comfortable. Like being imprisoned by your own brother is just a matter of proper accommodations.
Because this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
“Take her!” he says more sharply.
One of the armed figures reaches for my arm, and I gather myself as I prepare for a battle I never thought I’d be facing.
“No!” I shout. My mind is already working, checking escape routes, weaknesses, opportunities.
The brother I loved taught me to fight.
